


Becoming Those that Came Before

by cuttlecuttlefishfish



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aroace Kitagawa Yusuke, Asexual Character, Demiromantic Asexual Kurusu Akira, Found Family, Happy Ending, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Persona 5 Spoilers, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post-Canon, it doesn't get discussed but I felt like sharing, rated T for the language of one (1) Akechi Goro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttlecuttlefishfish/pseuds/cuttlecuttlefishfish
Summary: SPOILERS: Please do not read if you do not want major events of Persona 5: Royal to be spoiled for you! This fic takes place after the events of Royal, and both the summary and the fic itself will make references to those events."Makoto. I'll be fine. It's been nine years.""Yes, but—" Makoto cut herself short, her mouth snapping shut, then continued, her voice leveling off. "I know how you felt about him, and I know how rarely you feel that way about people—""Makoto," Akira repeated, doing his best to keep irritation from coloring his voice. From the look on Makoto's face, he'd failed.Nine years after the disbandment of the Phantom Thieves, Akira returns to Tokyo. Even after so long, the city still holds ghosts of the past, and the Metaverse continues to shift within the depths of its population.As a favor to Kawakami, Akira takes up the mantle of school counselor at Shujin, and must figure out how to navigate both old and new scars even as the cognitive world threatens to rise once more.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Kurusu Akira & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	1. Friends, Ghosts, Memories

Akira stepped back until he bumped into his desk, squinting at the painting hanging on the wall. He almost brought his hands up to frame it in his fingers but stopped himself with a short laugh. Perhaps he’d spent a little too much time with Yusuke recently. It didn’t take much to pick up his strange habits, even years after their graduation. 

“Desire and Hope” hung behind his desk, bringing a bit of color to the beige walls of his new office. The glow of sunset from the window hit it at just the right angle to set it alight.

“Settled in already, Doctor Kurusu?”

Akira turned and grinned at the woman standing in the doorway. “Principal Kawakami. You caught me off guard.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Kawakami’s eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry I couldn’t get you more time to set up. I really thought I’d be able to convince the faculty to get a counselor sooner, especially one as overqualified as you.”

“You flatter me.”

“At least I don’t have to show you around,” she replied. “Honestly, after how everyone treated you, I’m surprised you were willing to come back to Shujin.”

“How could I say no to my favorite teacher?” Akira teased, moving around the desk to pick up his bag. “Are you busy, or can I treat you to a cup of coffee? I know a good place.”

“Is that place Leblanc?”

He laughed. “Perhaps.”

“I’ll have to take a raincheck on that offer. There’s some paperwork I need to finish.” Kawakami shifted out of the way to let him pass, then shut off the lights and closed the door. “Send Sakura-san my regards, Kurusu-kun.”

“Of course.” Akira nodded a farewell to her before turning on his heel and walking towards the entrance. 

At that time of day, the hallways were near empty, and his phone pinging rang through the silence. It was likely just one of the old Thieves checking in, so he didn’t bother looking. 

The train ride to Yongen-Jaya was cramped and noisy. As much as he had missed Tokyo, there was no love lost between him and the subway. Without Morgana there to make witty or scathing comments about the people around them, or the chance of gleaning information the Thieves could use, Akira saw no reason to listen in on their conversations. Instead, he shut his eyes and leaned into the sway of the train. 

Perhaps he’d dozed off, since the announcement for his stop came earlier than he expected. He shook off the drowsiness and allowed the flow of passengers to guide him out and into the fresh air. The streets of Yongen-Jaya were almost exactly the same as they were years ago, apart from a few storefronts with unfamiliar signs. Akira rounded the corner, nearly stopping in his tracks as his gaze fell on Leblanc’s freshly-cleaned awning. He could only hope Sojiro had hired someone else to do it instead of trying to take care of it himself. Heavens only knew why he hadn’t just asked Akira to clean it. 

The bell jingled merrily as he opened the door. Sojiro greeted him with raised brows from behind his crossword.

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Akira replied. There were no customers in the cafe, so he didn’t hesitate to take a seat at the counter and set his bag on the next chair over. The flowers in the vase on the counter were beginning to wilt, so he made a mental note to stop by the underground mall in Shibuya to get more on his way home the next day. It would be a detour, but at least he’d have the chance to catch up with Hanasaki. “Kawakami couldn’t make it out but she says hello.”

Sojiro nodded and stood, making his way to the coffee station. “How’s she doing as principal?”

“She’s busy.” Akira took the cup of coffee offered to him with a smile. “She cares about her students, though.”

“That’s important.” After setting a plate of curry and rice in front of him, Sojiro sat back down and picked up his crossword. “Make sure you do the same.”

“Will do.” Since Sojiro was distracted once more, Akira deemed it safe to take out his phone. Technically Sojiro was no longer his legal guardian, but that wouldn’t stop him from getting huffy if he thought Akira was ignoring him.

**Ryuji:** Yo, you free next weekend?  
**Ryuji:** I’m going to be in town  
**Ryuji:** We should go out for ramen!!!

Akira shot back an affirmative reply before tucking his phone back in his pocket and digging into his meal. He scarfed the whole thing down in minutes and drained his coffee before standing and taking his dishes to the sink.

“Don’t worry about washing them,” Sojiro spoke up. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, boss.” Akira picked up his bag and made his way to the attic.

Lounging on his bed, sleeping deeply, was Morgana. He didn’t even stir as Akira set his bag down on the table by the stairs.

The room itself was mostly the same as it had been nine years ago, albeit much cleaner. Gone were the piles of papers and layers of dust. His bookshelf was still crammed with books, though they were neatly sorted by topic. Perhaps he could take a few in for reading material while he waited for students to visit. Luckily he didn’t have to serve the entire student body, just the ones deemed problem children or those who sought out counseling on their own. His days were more likely than not to be empty.

“Akira?”

Tearing his gaze from the bookshelf, he turned his attention to the cat stretched out among his blankets.

“When did you get back?” Morgana squinted at him, shifting into a sitting position.

“Not long ago.” Akira shrugged off his jacket. “Hopefully you didn’t have too much trouble entertaining yourself while I was away.”

“It helps that Sojiro installed a cat door.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” He changed into pajamas before tossing a grin Morgana’s way. “Does that mean I don’t have to get you those catnip mice?”

“I am not a cat!” Morgana hissed, arching his back at him.

Akira tilted his head, his fringe falling into his eyes. “You still get high on catnip.”

Morgana spared him one last glare before curling up on the corner of the bed. “I miss the quiet delinquent.”

“You love me.” Akira huffed out a laugh and plucked a book from the shelf before settling down on the bed. With the soft sound of Morgana’s sleeping breaths as his background, he allowed himself to get lost in a world without any weight on his shoulders.

——

A knock sounded on the door to Akira’s office. He tucked a bookmark in between the pages of his book and set it in his desk drawer beside a worn leather glove.

“Come in,” he called, not letting his gaze linger as he shut the drawer.

The door slid open to reveal a slouching student with hair bleached nearly white. Akira bit back a smile as a different blond popped into his mind, instead gesturing at the cushioned seat in front of him.

“Feel free to sit.”

The student glowered at him, but trudged over to the seat and plopped down, pulling his bag into his lap. His arms crossed over his chest, covering the logo on the t-shirt he was wearing. Everything about his posture screamed defensiveness, but Akira could work with that.

“What’s your name?”

“Iwata Kaito.”

Akira nodded, picking up a pen but making no move to write with it. “It’s nice to meet you, Iwata-kun. I’m Kurusu Akira.”

Iwata grunted.

“Was there anything you wanted to talk about? Anything said in here stays in here, so long as it does not pose a threat to you or others.” 

“This is a waste of time.” Iwata’s mouth pulled into a scowl.

“Okay.” Akira tapped his pen once on the desk. “We don’t have to discuss anything, then.” It wasn’t his job to keep students following the rules, and it wouldn’t exactly be productive for him to try to force anyone to talk.

When it was clear Iwata had nothing else to say, Akira pulled out a notepad. He had a new curry recipe he wanted to show Sojiro when he got back to Leblanc, but it still needed a few tweaks. Last time he tried it, the cinnamon flavor came on too strong. Still, without the cinnamon, the taste was flatter than he would have liked. Sojiro would certainly have some good advice, and it was better if he took advantage of it while he was staying at Leblanc. As much as he enjoyed Sojiro’s company, it would be a little awkward if he stopped in every few days for cooking advice once he had his own apartment.

“Where’s that painting from?”

Akira blinked, slowly, then raised his head. Iwata’s posture was still rather closed-off, but his scowl was lighter. That was a good sign. “One of my friends painted it for me back when we were still in high school. He gave it to me when I had to move away.”

“Your friend’s pretty good.” Iwata shifted in his seat, turning his head away as if to hide his interest. “What’s his name?”

“Kitagawa Yusuke.”

Iwata’s head snapped forward again, his eyes wide. “ _The_ Kitagawa Yusuke? You’re friends with him?”

“I take it you know of him?”

“Are you kidding? He’s only one of the best artists of this generation! How did you meet him?”

Akira set aside his notepad and pen, clasping his hands together on the desk. “It was our second year of high school. He spotted one of my friends and decided he wanted her to model for his next piece.” A chuckle escaped from between his lips as the memory played out. “So he followed us.”

“Holy shit.” Iwata stared at him. “I can’t believe my school counselor knows Kitagawa Yusuke.”

Iwata’s arms had come uncrossed, and he was leaning forward on the couch. Perhaps Akira would be able to get him to talk about himself, as well.

“Do you like art?” The question was safe, its answer obvious in their conversation.

Iwata’s face shuttered and he leaned back. “Yeah. What of it?”

“I was just curious,” Akira replied. He glanced at the clock on the wall across from him, managing to make out the time despite the glare from the window. 

Before he could say anything else, Iwata stood and picked up his bag. “I stayed my twenty minutes.” With that, he was out the door.

“Come back anytime,” Akira called after him, to no reply. He picked up his pen and notepad and went back through his notes on the recipe once more.

Later, when it was clear no more students would be visiting him that day, he began to pack up. The book, unfinished, stayed in its drawer, but he slipped the glove into his bag beside his notepad. After making sure he had his train pass, he shut off the lights and made his way out, locking the door behind him. 

No students roamed the halls of the main building in the early evening light, but a few teachers remained. None of them were familiar, so Akira offered them polite nods before slipping away.

He managed to snag a seat on the way to Shibuya. Without Morgana nagging at him to read, he could shut his eyes and think. Ryuji was going to be in town that weekend. Hopefully he’d be available for more than just a bowl of ramen, but there was no guarantee. If he was, Akira could probably convince Futaba, Yusuke, Haru, and Makoto to find room in their schedules for the six of them— plus Morgana— to get together.

The announcement of the train’s arrival shook him out of his thoughts in time for him to stand and file out with the other passengers. Once he got to a place against the wall relatively clear of foot traffic, he pulled out his phone and composed a message to Ryuji.

Russet flashed in the corner of his vision.

His eyes flicked up and over the crowds, free hand going to the glove buried in his bag. The bustle around him faded and the world dimmed as Third Eye activated. There! Going around a corner was a flash of blue, a floating card, and Akira pushed off the wall as he let Third Eye drop.

Color rushed back into the world. On that corner was a glowing blue advertisement for a new card game. He stopped in his tracks. Of course he’d been imagining things.

A passerby bumping into him jostled him back into movement. Texting Ryuji could wait, now that he was out in foot traffic. He let his feet carry him to the underground mall, his hands shoved into his pockets. Nine years since the end of Maruki’s stint as a messiah and Akira was still chasing ghosts.

“Kurusu-kun?”

Akira looked up. He’d managed to get to Rafflesia without even realizing, and Hanasaki was smiling at him from her spot amongst bundles of flowers. She looked largely the same, apart from what looked to be a new hairstyle.

“Hanasaki-san. It’s nice to see you again.”

“So it really is you!” Hanasaki straightened up and brushed her hands off on her apron. “I wasn’t aware you were back in town.”

“I only got here a few days ago.”

“Well, welcome back! What can I get for you?”

Akira considered for a second, hand already reaching for his wallet. He’d only come for new flowers for Leblanc, but Morgana probably wouldn’t mind if he got some to brighten up the attic. “Two bouquets and a vase, please. Something to liven up a room.”

“Leave it to me!”

Within twenty minutes, Akira was back on the train to Yongen-Jaya, bouquets and vase bundled up in his arms as he determinedly didn’t think about old rivals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Though I'm not new to writing, fanfics or otherwise, this is the first time I've ever published a fanfic! Please let me know if you have any tips for tagging or otherwise.
> 
> I do, in fact, have a plan for the plot of this fic, though I don't know how many chapters it'll take for me to carry it out. Once I get a feel for how things are flowing through the next few chapters, I'll update the chapter count to a rough estimate.
> 
> Also, I do not have an update schedule for this fic yet. Classes are starting soon for me, and once they've begun, I'll be able to get a feel for how much time I have and when I can update. So again, please bear with me! Thank you for reading!


	2. Cognition Stirring

The bell on the door to Leblanc jingled as it swung open, breaking the silence that had settled over the cafe while Akira mopped. 

“Sorry, we’re closed,” he said, not bothering to look up.

“Aren’t you getting too old to let Sakura-san stick you with cleaning duties?” a familiar voice spoke, and Akira raised his head to the sight of Sae setting her briefcase on the counter.

He grinned. “I’m not too old to volunteer.” Leaning the mop against the wall, he made his way behind the counter. “What brings you here tonight?”

“Peace and quiet.” Sae sat on one of the stools, folding her arms in front of her. “Makoto’s been staying with me while her apartment gets fumigated, and she’s so stressed about her latest case that I can feel it from anywhere in the apartment.”

Akira grimaced sympathetically, pouring a mug of coffee and setting it in front of her. “Feel free to stay as long as you need. We shouldn’t be getting any customers.” He shut off the television and moved to lock the front. “I’m guessing you’re referring to the murders?”

Sae squinted at him. “How did you know?”

“Saw it on the news. The reporter was really ruthless.”

“That man just doesn’t know how to back down,” she groaned. “No wonder Makoto’s so tense.”

“How much of it was true?” Akira asked, sitting down a few stools over from her. “Can they really not find a cause of death?”

“Unfortunately.” Sae pulled a few papers out of her briefcase. “No cuts, no bruises, no lacerations or puncture wounds. It doesn’t appear to be poison, either. Makoto was considering the possibility of mental shutdowns, but—” 

Though Sae continued to speak, the words never reached Akira’s ears. A searing pain tore through his skull, not unlike the migraines he got when he used Third Eye for too long. Accompanying it came a wave of dizziness, and it was all he could do to brace himself against the counter and not tip out of his seat. The world around him shimmered, Leblanc’s homey, vintage charm splintering away to a plane of softly glowing red glass. In the corner of his vision rose a half-collapsed pyramid, and nausea rolled through him. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. He’d done away with the Metaverse years ago, had collapsed Mementos and killed its false god. 

“Akira? Akira!” 

Akira blinked, and the vision faded as quickly as it came. With a few deep breaths, he managed to collect himself enough to register the solid weight of a steadying hand on his shoulder, accompanied by the sight of Sae’s furrowed brows as she stared at him. For a few more seconds, her eyes flickered over his face, then, seemingly satisfied, she straightened up and removed her hand from his shoulder. 

“What was that?” she asked as she stepped back to her seat, her gaze never leaving him.

“Migraine,” Akira replied, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I’ve been having them recently.” It wasn’t a complete lie; he’d had a few truly miserable migraines since he’d arrived back in Tokyo, though they were more on par with the pain he’d felt when he first awakened his Persona than even the worst headache he’d gotten from Third Eye. None of them were accompanied by hallucinations.

“Have you seen a doctor for them?”

Akira waved off her concern. “It’s not that bad. I just get them sometimes.”

“If you’re sure.” Sae gave him one more pointed look before returning to her paperwork. She didn’t bother him about it again, though something tense settled over the two of them. 

The rest of the evening passed quietly, Akira taking up the mop once more as Sae poured over her work. Before too long, Sae began packing up, and Akira took that as a cue to hang up his apron.

“I’ll see you again soon,” she told him as she stepped out the door. “Be sure to see someone if your headaches get worse.” 

Akira’s lips quirked up into a smile. “Fine, so long as you make sure Makoto takes some time to relax.”

“It’s a deal,” Sae laughed. She waved, then turned on her heel and began walking away.

It only took Akira a few minutes to close up Leblanc. Once the door was locked, he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. It was as he turned away that red flashed in the corner of his vision. He spun back around to the mirror and froze. 

Instead of his reflected face, red glass stretched out to some horizon. He reached out his hand to touch, and the surface of the mirror rippled under his palm. It was as though he could simply climb in—

“Akira?”

Akira tugged his hand back out of the mirror. “In here, Morgana,” he called, opening the bathroom door to poke his head out. “Just getting ready to go to bed.”

Morgana sauntered over, tail high in the air. “Good. I was getting sick of nagging you about it.”

“Yeah, imagine how I feel,” Akira muttered, shooting one last glance at the mirror, where only his own disgruntled face scowled back at him. Ignoring the prickling feeling crawling up his neck, he followed Morgana up the stairs. Figuring out whatever that was would have to wait.

——

Akira snuck another piece of fatty tuna into his bag, wincing as Morgana nipped his thumb in thanks.

“Thanks again for treating us, Haru!” Ryuji exclaimed.

“It was my pleasure, Ryuji-kun.” Haru beamed at him, dabbing primly at her mouth with a napkin. “It’s been so long since we’ve had the chance to get together, I just couldn’t help myself.”

“If only Ann and Sumire were in town, too.” Makoto sighed. “I supposed we’ll just have to meet with them when they’re next free.”

“Lady Ann said she’d be back at the end of the month,” Morgana meowed, poking his head out of the bag. Akira glared at him and shoved him back inside, zipping it shut before any of the restaurant staff could see him.

“Sumire’s competition ends tomorrow,” he added, nudging the bag when Morgana made a sound of complaint. “She’ll be in London for another week, then she’s flying back to Tokyo.”

“That’s good.” Haru snagged another piece of sushi. “Say, Akira-kun, how was your first week back at Shujin?”

All eyes turned to him.

“It was good.” He twisted a strand of hair between his fingers, debating whether to elaborate. They’d never actually discussed what to do if they found signs of the Metaverse returning, and he had no proof for it, anyway. He could have just left it at that, but his mouth betrayed him. “Though…”

“Though?” Yusuke prodded.

Akira grimaced. What was something safe to tell them that would justify his hesitation? “My first day, on the way home. I thought I saw him again.”

“I see.” Yusuke turned his gaze away, smile dropping, and the others followed suit.

“Are you sure it’ll be okay for you?” Futaba said slowly. “Being back in Tokyo and all?”

“I’ll be fine.” Of course they’d be worried; Akira had been a fool to think otherwise. He smiled. “Besides, I missed you all too much to stay away.”

“That’s our leader,” Ryuji laughed, continuing to wolf down sushi like it was the end of the world. “You won’t let anything hold you back, huh?”

Akira let his grin turn sharp. “You know it.”

There was a lull in conversation for a moment, but his friends’ concerns finally settled as they shifted topics to Futaba’s research. Akira let their chatter wash over them without registering any of it. As much as he hated to admit it, Futaba had a point. He’d been doing well away from Tokyo. He’d seen a therapist, he’d mostly gotten over his time in interrogation, and he’d been able to at least address his need to solve everyone’s problems. Seeing a dead man at every turn— and bringing said man’s glove with him everywhere— wasn’t the healthiest thing for him. 

“Akira, what do you think?”

He blinked. “About what?”

Makoto’s eyes narrowed at him. “My department’s been having trouble with a case recently. Sis suggested a private investigator she consults with, but the man has the condition that all communications remain anonymous.”

“Does Sae-san trust him?”

“She wouldn’t recommend him otherwise.”

Akira hummed, twisting the ring on his middle finger. “Sae-san doesn’t take things like this lightly. You should give him a chance. Besides, it’s not the first time we’ve had to ask for help from someone we don’t know. At least he didn’t hack your phone and start sending you messages you couldn’t respond to.”

Futaba glared at him from across the table. “Are you looking to start something?”

“You heard me,” he teased.

Futaba flicked a grain of rice at him, and it struck him right in the nose.

“Now, now, there’s no need to fight,” Haru interjected, plucking Futaba’s plate from in front of her. Futaba stuck her tongue out, snatching it back and continuing to eat.

Akira chuckled and brushed the rice off his face before returning to his own meal. He snuck Morgana another piece of fish once the chef’s back was turned, as conversation resumed around him. It didn’t matter what risks there were in returning to Tokyo, so long as he had his friends at his side to help him through it. And if the strange happenings in his mirror turned out to be something important, they’d still be there.

——

A knock on the door rang out through the office.

“Come in,” Akira called, setting aside his book.

The door opened, and Iwata marched in, his shoulders nearly drawn up to his ears. He shut the door behind him, hard, and plopped into the chair without prompting.

“Wha—”

“Can I stay here? Please? Just until you have to go home.” Iwata didn’t meet his eyes, his gaze firmly trained on the painting behind Akira.

“Sure.” Akira tapped his fingers on the desk. “Do you mind me asking what for?”

Iwata scowled. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“No, so long as what you tell me doesn’t put yourself or others at risk.”

There was silence as Iwata sized him up. Finally, Iwata slouched back into the chair. “There’s a detective out front. Heard him asking about me.”

“Is there a reason he’s looking for you?”

Iwata scuffed his shoe on the hardwood. “A girl went missing. From Kosei. Some jackass must’ve told him we were friends.”

Akira reached up to fiddle with one of his curls. “Why don’t you want to talk to him?”

“Guys like him don’t give a crap about anything but their career,” Iwata snarled. “He doesn’t care about her.”

Akira knew he had to be careful with his next words, if he didn’t want to shatter the little trust he’d earned. “I don’t know anything about the man you’re talking about,” he said slowly, “so I can’t say whether or not you’re right.”

Iwata said nothing. So far, so good.

“However, finding her is still part of his job. Whether or not his motive is good, he’s still trying to find her.”

Silence.

Akira tugged on his hair, pain prickling across his scalp. “What if I come with you to talk to him?” 

Iwata’s eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Iwata scrambled out of his seat and grabbed his bag before hurrying out of the room. Akira picked up his valuables and followed behind him.

By then, most students were at clubs or had gone home, but several lingered to chat in the hallways. Though Akira’s ears perked up, he forced himself to stay out of their business. They weren’t talking about him, so it didn’t matter.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to reach the front gate. Across the street, a man in an orange-brown coat leaned against one of the buildings, light brown hair pulled into a low ponytail. His face was achingly familiar, brows pulled together as he looked down at his phone.

Third Eye activated, wreathing him in a brilliant blue glow. Above him floated Justice, upright.

“I heard you were asking for me.”

Iwata’s words snapped Akira out of his trance. Right. He was there for a reason.

Akechi— there was no way he could be anyone else, not with that arcana— looked up and tucked his phone in his jacket pocket. His hands were bare despite the spring chill in the air. 

“Iwata Kaito, I presume?” Akechi’s eyes flickered to Akira before settling on Iwata, his expression flat. “My name is Akechi Goro. I’m working as a consultant for the case of Matsumoto Ayaka’s disappearance. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Iwata stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground. “Fine.”

Akira’s gaze caught on a group of chattering students. “How about we do this somewhere more private?” he interjected. “We can use my office.”

Akechi looked Akira up and down, then nodded. “Very well. Lead the way.”

Akira turned on his heel, the world around him blurring and blending together. He blinked it away as he began to walk. It had been years since he had to rely on the mask of Joker for strength, but even after so long, it fit like a second skin. Akira had to worry about long-dead rivals popping back into his life like nothing happened, apparently. Joker did not.

Once they reached his office, Akira opened the door and ushered the two of them in before moving the chair behind his desk to set it right across from the cushioned armchair. Akechi perched in it while Iwata took the armchair, and Akira leaned against the desk.

“Now then.” Akechi’s voice no longer held any of the prim niceties of his princely detective facade, but something about it was almost gentle as he regarded Iwata. He took a small notepad and pen out of his breast pocket. “How long have you known Matsumoto-san?”

“Five years.”

“Her roommate told me the two of you spent a lot of time together. Did anything strange happen in the weeks leading up to her disappearance?”

Iwata glared, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Was she displaying any strange behaviors? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“I guess she looked… sad? She’s been in a bit of an art slump, but I didn’t think too much of it. They happen sometimes.”

Akechi nodded, writing something down on his notepad. “How was her life at Kosei? Did she have any issues there?”

“She didn’t run away!” Iwata shot to his feet. “Of course that’s what you’re after. You want to write her off as another runaway, don’t you?”

Akira narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing. Akechi raised an eyebrow and lowered his notepad, leaning back in his seat.

“All you care about is closing cases,” Iwata hissed. “You don’t give a shit about her.”

The world rippled, and Akira squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s enough.”

Silence. When Akira opened his eyes again, Akechi was smiling.

“Are you done?” he asked, his voice smooth, polished steel. “To be quite frank, I couldn’t care less what you think of me or my job, but I plan to find your friend no matter what the circumstances are. You can help me, or you can stand there and bluster.”

Iwata froze. He looked to Akechi, then to Akira, then sat back down. “Aya was happy at Kosei,” he told them. “She had friends and she liked her teachers. She wouldn’t have run away unless something really bad happened.”

“I see.” Akechi made another note. He reached into a pocket and flicked out a business card. “For now, that’s all I need from you. If you think of anything else suspicious, here’s my card.”

Iwata nodded, pocketing the card and standing. He picked up his bag, avoiding looking at either of them. “I’m sorry. For losing my temper. I’ll be going now. Thank you for staying with me, Doctor Kurusu.”

“Have a safe trip,” Akira told him as he rushed out the door.

Akechi stood. “I should take my leave as well.”

“Actually, Detective, before you go, could I have a word with you?” Akira pushed off of the desk and moved to shut the door. “I won’t take more than a few minutes of your time, I promise.”

“What do you want?”

“How recent is this?”

Akechi gave him a flat look. “How recent is what?”

“Oh, you know,” Akira replied, crossing his arms over his chest, “the whole not-being-dead thing.”

Akechi bared his teeth in some semblance of a grin. “I don’t know, _Doctor_ , how recent is your little school counselor gig? Have any plans for a new reality where you can keep all your Phantom Thief friends under your thumb forever?”

Akira took in a long, slow breath through his nose. “I didn’t do this for him. Do you really think so little of me?”

“After your pathetic display of sentimentality over someone who betrayed you and tried to kill you multiple times? Yes.”

“That was nine years ago.”

“Yet you’re working at the school you left nine years ago. Tell me, if you didn’t do this for Maruki, who did you do it for?”

Ryuji. Ann. Yusuke, Makoto, Futaba, Haru, Sumire. Any one of them could have served as an answer, were a part of the answer, but he stayed silent.

“Oh, this is rich,” Akechi laughed. “Nine years and you’re still hung up on the one you couldn’t save? The one who never wanted your charity? You and your goddamn savior complex!” Akechi reached past him and opened the door. “I’m alive. Get over it.”

Then he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him. Akira braced himself against the armchair, dragging in a lungful of air. Akechi was alive. He was alive, and in Tokyo, and wanted absolutely nothing to do with Akira.

Wait. More importantly, Akechi was alive, in Tokyo, and going by his real name? Akira straightened up and dug his phone out of his bag. He opened up his contacts and called the first one on speed dial.

Futaba picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“Akechi’s alive.”

A sigh. “Akira…”

“I’m serious. I just talked to him.”

“What? How is that possible? He should be buried in a sunken ship somewhere in the Metaverse!”

“He didn’t tell me, but that’s not important right now. Futaba, he’s going by his real name!” Akira stopped, took a breath, and forced his voice back down to a conversational volume. “I know it’s been nine years, but he was famous. How is he using his real name?”

“I’ll look into it. Leblanc, tonight?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’ll do.”

The line crackled. “Okay.” Futaba’s voice was unnaturally still. “See you then.” With that, the line went dead.

——

“Welcome back.”

Akira froze in the doorway, eyes stuck on the filled booth in the center of Leblanc. “Futaba called all of you.”

“Yes, she did.” Makoto brushed a strand of hair away from her face before folding her hands in front of her. “This concerns all of us, after all.”

Akira stood there for a second longer, then shook his head. “Let’s get this over with.” He pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. “What did you find out about Akechi?”

“Well…” Futaba dragged out the vowel, tapping a few keys on her laptop. “Crow is very much alive and kicking.” Her gaze darted to Akira, then back to her screen. “However…”

“According to public record, Akechi Goro has never committed a crime,” Makoto finished for her. “He has no official ties to Shido, either.”

“How did that happen?” Yusuke asked, leaning forward in his seat. 

“We’re getting there, Inari,” Futaba grumbled. “Akechi may be alive, but the second coming of the Detective Prince is not. It’s as if he was never famous.”

“For real?” Ryuji exclaimed.

Makoto folded her hands together on the table, ignoring Ryuji’s outburst. “We prevented the merge of Mementos and the real world, so everything should be back to normal. There’s no reason for us to believe that anyone else has the power to change cognition at this grand a scale.”

“Yeah, especially since Maruki didn’t even have that power until we took down Yaldabaoth.” Morgana leapt onto the table. His tail swished as he looked between the people gathered. “We have to face the facts, though. Nine years ago, someone received the power to alter cognition, and all they did was give Akechi a second chance.”

“Who would do that, though? We’re the only ones who knew what happened to him,” Haru pointed out.

“If one of us inherited Maruki’s power, though, we would have said something.”

Akira pursed his lips. It was the perfect chance to bring up what he’d seen in the mirror, but he still knew nothing about it. “What if we check Mementos for distortion?” he suggested instead.

“We don’t have the MetaNav anymore, though,” Ryuji muttered.

“About that…” Futaba shut her laptop and grinned. “I’ve been working on a replacement app, for research purposes. It’s not done yet, but I’m getting close. Once it’s ready, we can test it out.”

“How long will that be?” Yusuke tilted his head.

“Anywhere from a week to two months.”

Ryuji groaned. “That’s too long!”

“Compared to nine years, it’s nothing,” Makoto replied. “If the culprit hasn’t yet acted, they’re unlikely to do anything in that time.”

“Plus, Ann-chan and Sumire-chan will want to be part of this!” Haru said brightly. “That’s enough time for them to be back in Tokyo.”

“You’re right. Futaba, make sure to keep us updated. For now, let’s eat!” Morgana gave Akira an expectant look, and he stood with a sigh.

“Fine, fine.” He snagged an apron from a hook on the wall. “You guys can be the first to try my new recipe.”

“Has Boss approved it?” Makoto asked slowly.

Akira grinned. “I said first, didn’t I?”

A chorus of groans rose up from around the table. Akira simply smirked and turned to the refrigerator to search for ingredients.

Later, after most of the former Thieves had trickled out the door, Makoto approached him.

“Akira.”

“Yes?” Akira scrubbed harder at the dish in his hands. He knew what Makoto wanted to ask about, of course he did, but that wasn’t going to make the conversation any easier to have.

“This should have been the first thing I asked, but are you alright?” When Akira looked up, Makoto was wringing her hands together, hovering awkwardly at the opening of the bar. “You were the one closest to Akechi, and the one to discover that he’s alive. We should’ve—”

“Makoto.” Akira set down the plate, drying his hands on his apron before turning to her. “I’ll be fine. It’s been nine years.”

“Yes, but—” Makoto cut herself short, her mouth snapping shut, then continued, her voice leveling off. “I know how you felt about him, and I know how rarely you feel that way about people—”

“Makoto,” Akira repeated, doing his best to keep irritation from coloring his voice. From the look on Makoto’s face, he’d failed. “Yes, I had romantic feelings for him, and yes, I still do. Maybe some part of me always will, but I came to terms with that years ago. I don’t need a romantic relationship to be happy. I have you and the rest of the Thieves for that.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. After a long silence, she nodded. “I understand. I didn’t mean to insinuate that your life was any lesser for it.”

“I know you didn’t.” He let his shoulders drop as he turned back to the dishes. “Thank you for always looking out for me, but I really am alright.”

Makoto smiled. “I’ll see you around, Akira.”

“Yeah. See you around.” He didn’t look up as she backed out from behind the counter and made her way out of the cafe.

The world was quiet as Akira put away the last of the dishes, especially without Morgana chattering away at him like usual. He’d seen Futaba sneak him out in her bag, so he’d have at least one night of peace, probably more. With the cafe empty of customers and nagging cats, it was the perfect chance to investigate the mirror. Sure, he hadn’t gotten the chance to stock up on medicine, but he still had his old knife and model gun to work with.

After closing up Leblanc, he hurried upstairs and grabbed his weapons, then walked into the bathroom. Sure enough, when he reached out to touch the mirror’s surface, the image rippled and was replaced with the glowing red world. 

Without a second thought, Akira stepped up onto the sink and twisted his shoulders to fit through the mirror’s frame. He managed to squeeze his torso and hips through next. With the majority of his body weight on the other side, unsupported, the rest of him came tumbling through and he was falling, falling, falling...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I cannot promise that the next chapter will come out this fast, but I currently have a good portion of chapter three written. I'm thinking of aiming for ten chapters with this fic, so I'm setting the chapter count to that for now, but it may change as I continue writing.
> 
> Next chapter is Akechi's perspective! He's a bit of a wordy bastard, and writing him comes much more easily to me than Akira's perspective, so I'm not sure how the balance of their perspectives will work out. Either way, he's a lot of fun to write, so I'm looking forward to it!


	3. A Royal Ruin

Goro was never going to take a good day for granted again. It wasn’t a sentiment he ever thought he’d have, even after he’d finished his rehabilitation into society and was theoretically a better person, but falling into an alternate world filled with too many goddamned reflective surfaces could do that to a person. Of course, because he wasn’t a bullheaded, reckless idiot, he’d packed a bag with his years-old model weapons, painkillers, and bandages before he even considered climbing through his bathroom mirror. 

That proved to be the right decision, since mere seconds after he’d landed on the smooth, glassy ground, it split open in front of him. Blood-red tendrils rose from the crack, coalescing into a mound of hollow faces frozen in silent screams. Goro hardly had the chance to blink before a familiar mask settled on his face in a burst of blue flame. Loki and Robin Hood buzzed under his skin, their presences slotting into place as if he’d never left the Metaverse.

In one fluid motion, he freed his sword from his bag and swung at the mound. It burst, spraying red gunk everywhere. Goro leapt back as it reformed into a floating fairy king with patterned butterfly wings.

He’d fought plenty of that kind during his exploration of Shido’s Palace, but that was at the height of his instability. There was a distinct chance that his rehabilitation and years of disuse had negatively affected Loki’s powers. 

Only one way to find out.

“Arise, Loki!” The mask burned against his face, his Persona looming behind him.

He thrust his arm forward and Loki leapt to attack in the same instant. A flurry of red and black engulfed the Shadow, and when it cleared, the fairy king dissolved into nothing. 

Goro stood for a moment, Loki poised to strike. There was no urge to break out in maniacal laughter, no desire to turn and dispel the contents of his stomach, just a heavy satisfaction settling deep in his bones. No matter how much he waited, nothing else came from the crack. Instead, it flashed red and sealed itself shut. He strode forward to collect the pile of money from the ground. It wasn’t much, but there was no point in leading it there to go to waste. 

With the danger gone, he finally had a chance to stop and take in his surroundings. Red-tinted glass stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by intermittent structures rising from its surface. The sky above was made of countless mirrors, fitted together in a way that gave it the appearance of splintering.

A scream rang out, echoing even in the vast empty space between buildings. 

Right. Goro could probably take on any Shadows that approached him, but even he didn’t have limitless energy. The sooner he could find an exit, the better. He chose one of the closest structures and set out for it, tucking his sword and gun into his belt. Below his feet, empty faces pressed up against the underside of the ground, expressions cast in permanent agony. He resolved to not look down for very long.

Loki pressed up against his mind, shifting and ever-changing, yet silent. Even during the bief fight, he’d been quieter than Goro could ever remember, tense with anticipation instead of shrieking and spewing hatred for their foes. Perhaps he truly had been affected by Goro’s rehabilitation, or perhaps he was just as unsettled by their new surroundings as Goro was. Either way, the silence left room for his own thoughts.

Given the presence of his Personas, he could assume that the alternate universe he’d landed in was some offshoot of the Metaverse. It was cleaner and more clinical than the winding passages of Mementos, and far too large to be any one individual’s Palace, but the existence of Shadows and the power thrumming through him were more than proof enough.

Of course, it didn’t really matter, since he’d sworn off the Metaverse years ago. His only concern was finding a way out and never coming back, now that his curiosity was sated.

Finally, Goro stopped in front of his destination. From the ground rose a half-collapsed tower, surrounded by the remains of what must’ve once been a castle. Hints of red carpet peeked out from under dust and stone, but the most prominent piece of debris was a portrait several times larger than any living human, twisted and leering. It was torn to the point of being nigh unrecognizable, but something about the face prickled a memory in the back of Goro’s mind. He pushed the thought to the side and began picking his way to the tower through the rubble.

At its base stood a decrepit red throne. Its occupant, clad in dark clothing with crimson gloves, lounged with his legs hanging over one arm rest and his torso draped over the other. His silver-white mask glinted as he raised his head, but he made no move to stand.

Goro didn’t bother drawing his weapons. Nine years might change a person, but no amount of time could rewrite who they were deep down. Kurusu Akira was not a killer. Goro didn’t want to linger on what that meant about himself.

“Joker.” Goro stopped in front of the throne, close enough to watch as Kurusu’s gaze flickered over him, then settled somewhere in the distance.

“Crow.” Kurusu smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you know where we are now?”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Why, of course.” Kurusu leapt from the throne, landing soundlessly and throwing his arms out as if he were a carnival barker inviting passerby to watch the show of a lifetime. “Welcome to Kamoshida’s Palace! The site of the rise of the Phantom Thieves!” Kurusu lowered his arms. “Or, at least, what’s left of it.”

Goro frowned. “You stole his desires.”

“We did,” Kurusu confirmed. “We also collapsed Mementos and closed our access to the Metaverse, yet here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are, indeed.”

There was silence, then Kurusu continued. “I don’t think this is really Kamoshida’s Palace. It looks the same, but his presence is gone.”

Goro wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to know, yet Robin Hood nudged at him and the words came spilling out. “What was it like?”

Grey eyes locked onto him, cold and emotionless. Perhaps he’d misstepped. He didn’t care about Kurusu’s feelings— _lies_ , Loki hissed, and went ignored— but Kurusu could provide him with invaluable assistance. It would be better not to offend him. 

He was about to apologize when Kurusu spoke.

“We weren’t the Phantom Thieves back then, just a group of scared kids. It was fun, jumping across chandeliers and ambushing Shadows, but between those times, we could all feel him breathing down our necks.” Kurusu’s eyes flashed from behind his mask. “I was stupid and careless in the beginning. I let Shadows spot us, even let some ambush us. The security level went so high, it seemed like they could track us by our heartbeats alone.” His fists clenched. “I learned my lesson after a group of Kelpies surrounded us and almost killed Ryuji.”

“That’s why you were so cautious in the casino.”

“Yes. Any one of the Shadows there could have killed us if they managed to get the drop on us.” Kurusu shut his eyes, and the air around them went still. When he opened his eyes again, his expression was blank. “We should probably get going.” Without waiting for Goro to reply, he whirled around and began walking towards the parts of the tower left standing.

Goro bit back a curse, falling into step behind him. That was how things always went with them, wasn’t it? Once upon a time, before he knew Kurusu was a part of— in fact, the leader of— the Phantom Thieves, he had the upper hand. Yet Kurusu found a way to turn the tables, time after time. Declaring them rivals before the thought even crossed Goro’s mind, dueling in Mementos and predicting every single one of Goro’s attacks, even faking his own death to throw Goro and the world off the Phantom Thieves’ scent.

Goro was sick of being left behind. He sped up his pace until they were walking side by side.

“Is there a reason you chose to go this way?” he asked slowly, making sure to drip condescension from every word.

Kurusu stopped in front of the tower’s curved outer wall. “Do you not feel it?”

Goro grit his teeth. “As hard as it may be for you to believe, some people use logic and reasoning when faced with a problem, not a gut feeling.”

“It’s not a gut feeling.” Kurusu jumped up and hooked his hand on a ledge. “There’s something where Kamoshida’s Treasure used to be. I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s important.” He pulled himself the rest of the way and Goro had no choice but to follow. 

“How is that not a gut feeling?” Goro snapped, leaping up behind him.

Kurusu kept climbing. “It just isn’t. Have I ever steered you wrong while you were part of my team?”

Goro opened his mouth to retort, then shut it. Kurusu with all his stupid, naive trust in people, had a knack for leadership and a killer instinct in every situation. Goro hated it.

 _But you don’t hate him_ , Loki whispered, sharp angles grating against his skull. 

“Shut up,” he snarled.

Kurusu glanced back at him, his face still. Past his mask, though, his eyes shone with amusement. He mimed zipping his lips shut before hopping through an open window. Goro pulled himself through an instant later, landing on a tiled floor. He came face-to-face with a headless, armless, legless statue in a coquettish pose and scrambled back. With what he’d heard of Kamoshida, he shouldn’t have been surprised, but that didn’t stop him from keeping his eyes carefully averted from the line of identical statues across the room.

Either ignoring his slip or politely pretending to have not seen it, Kurusu began to walk. “It’s strange seeing this place without distortion.”

Was Kurusu trying to make small talk? The whole time they’d known each other, Goro always had to be the one to initiate conversation, and they’d both left meaningless chatter during infiltration to the rest of the Thieves. What did he have to gain from this?

Heedless of Goro’s lack of response, Kurusu continued to speak. “Parts of the floor would rise to create barriers we couldn’t pass, wherever we went. Kamoshida was trying to keep us out, even if it meant ruining his whole—” he made a vague hand gesture— “tyrant aesthetic. It should be easier to get through without all that.”

“And what if the place you’re looking for is no longer accessible?”

“We’ll be able to get there,” Kurusu replied. “Do you trust me?”

“More than I’d like.” 

“That’ll be enough.”

A staircase clattered into place in front of them, and Kurusu led the way upward.

The next floor was open to the sky, half of its wall caved in and almost the entirety of the upper floors missing. No staircase or other form of ascension was visible, but Goro could see the glint of gold from a doorway far above them.

“Now what?”

Kurusu turned to him and grinned, raising one of his gloved hands. A device nestled into the fabric— right, the grappling hook— flashed blue. “Hold onto me.”

Goro scoffed. “I think not. I’m not some damsel you can tote around.”

“Unless you happen to have one of your own, it’s that or get left behind.”

“You and your bleeding heart wouldn’t dare.”

“Just do it, Crow.”

“Fine.” Goro scowled and stepped up to him. “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“Of course.” Kurusu’s arm snaked around Goro’s waist and pulled him close. “My lips are sealed.”

“Then why are you still talking?”

Kurusu blinked. From his spot pressed against his chest, Goro could practically count his eyelashes as they fluttered with the motion.

He scolded himself for thinking like that, as Kurusu burst into laughter. Some part of him, though, perhaps a remainder of the Detective Prince, preened with satisfaction. He didn’t have time to linger on that thought when Kurusu activated his grappling hook and sent them careening into the air. 

The two of them landed neatly on the edge of the upper floor, Kurusu releasing his grip on Goro and walking through the doorway to the next room. Goro took a second to compose himself before following after.

Piles of gold littered the floor, interspersed with large shining gems. In the center of the room, though, was a silver-framed mirror, its surface glowing red.

Kurusu shot him a look that screamed _I told you so_ , then reached out and laid his palm on the mirror. The image of the attic of Leblanc appeared, though it was neater than Goro remembered. Something like unease prickled in the back of his mind, but he didn’t bother to think about it as Kurusu gestured for him to go through.

“I can find my own way back,” Goro said coolly.

“I’m not leaving you behind when the exit is right there,” Kurusu hissed. “Don’t ask me to.”

The two of them locked eyes. For the first time that night, Kurusu’s expression was completely open, a sight he hadn’t seen since the fateful night in Leblanc so many years ago, when Kurusu confronted him about his impending fade from existence. There was something in his face then, something so viciously vulnerable, and the same thing greeted him as they stood in front of the mirror.

All of the fight in Goro faded, and he stepped through the mirror and into Leblanc’s attic. He shuddered as his Metaverse outfit melted away. Moonlight shone through the windows, illuminating the room faintly. Most things were the same, including Kurusu’s ridiculous shelf of knick knacks and the poster of Risette on the wall. The desk in the corner was no longer cluttered with materials for infiltration tools, however, and the beat-up laptop was nowhere to be seen. 

He turned around just in time to see the air shimmer and Kurusu step out of nothing, his face half-hidden by his glasses. 

Standing there together in silence, without their masks or Personas, Goro could almost forget that earlier that day, he’d been berating Kurusu over everything from his choice in career to his attitude about Goro himself. 

Some semblance of an apology danced on his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He turned away. “I should go.”

A hand wrapped around his wrist. 

“It’s late. Stay.”

Goro looked back. Grey eyes, softened by exhaustion, peered at him from behind round frames. If Goro were a stronger man, he would have pulled his arm from Kurusu’s grip and been out the door before he could blink. 

But Goro was weak. Weak for billiard matches and late night coffee dates, weak for clever grins and dramatic schemes, and most of all weak for sharp grey eyes and quiet loyalty. 

“Alright.” 

Kurusu smiled, a barely-there quirk of his lips, and let go. After one last lingering look, he stepped away and began gathering extra covers from the bed. “I’ll take the couch,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s your bed.”

“And you’re my guest.”

“Is there any point in trying to convince you otherwise?”

“No.”

Goro pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. So long as it’s just for one night.”

“Thief’s honor,” Kurusu teased, dumping an armful of blankets onto the couch. He stood there for a second, and when he turned, the merriment was gone from his face. “I mean it, though. If it’s what you want, you can leave in the morning, and you never have to see me again.”

That was it. If he left, Kurusu wouldn’t hold it over his head, wouldn’t try to track him down, wouldn’t ever bother him again. All he had to do was say the word.

He must have taken too long to answer, as Kurusu returned to preparing his makeshift bed. With nothing else to do, Goro set his bag aside and walked over to the bed set up in the corner of the room. Despite Kurusu having commandeered half the bedding, there was still more than enough for a spring night. Goro pushed one of the heavier blankets to the side and settled under the rest of the covers, turning his back to the wall. His gaze fell on the stairway, with Kurusu hovering just at the edge of his peripheral vision. Eventually, Kurusu laid down as well, and Goro could let his thoughts drift.

There were countless questions that needed to be addressed, but if he tried to ponder all of them, he’d be up all night. So he set aside all of his curiosities about Kurusu— if he stayed, he could ask the man himself, and if he left, none of it would matter— and focused on what was important.

He’d already established that the world in the mirror was something similar to the Metaverse, at least similar enough for him to access his Metaverse outfit and Personas, but that was where his certainty ended. Why was Kamoshida’s Palace, even decrepit as it was, on that plane? Once a Palace’s treasure was taken, it was supposed to collapse out of existence. There was no reason for them to have come across it, nor was there a reason for it to have had a mirror capable of taking them back to the real world. Furthermore, the Thieves had said that Kamoshida’s Palace materialized at Shujin, so why did the mirror lead him and Kurusu back to Leblanc?

Something was missing, some common thread that ran through it all, but for the life of him, Goro could not grasp it. It was a battle to keep his eyes open against the stillness draped over the room, and one that he eventually lost.

——

 **Nijima Sae:** Don’t forget we’re meeting for lunch at 1.  
**Nijima Sae:** I found a new place I think you’ll like.

Goro squinted at his phone screen, doing his best to make out the time at the top. Eight-thirty. Normally, not too early, but after spending half the night in the Metaverse? All he wanted to do was throw the phone across the room and pull the covers over his head until he inevitably passed out again.

He looked over at Kurusu. If Goro didn’t know better, he would have thought he was dead with how still he was under the mountain of blankets. Judging by the way he was sleeping so soundly, he had nowhere to be at eight-thirty on a Sunday. 

It was the perfect opportunity for Goro to slip out from under the covers and out of Kurusu’s life, but the thought brought him no relief. His throat constricted. How many times had he imagined encountering Kurusu throughout the years? And yet, when he finally had the chance to talk to him, twice now, he’d let shock and whatever feelings— animosity or otherwise— that still lingered drive his words. To think he’d been the one accusing Kurusu of sentimentality.

When a few minutes passed and Kurusu still didn’t stir, Goro swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He had, stupidly, left his shoes behind when he initially crawled through his bedroom mirror, so he’d have to wait for his host to wake before setting foot outside. That was fine, he could see about procuring a cup of coffee from downstairs. 

Mind made up, Goro walked down the steps. It was only when he reached the bottom step, when the sound of a mug shattering on the floor hit his ears, that he remembered why, exactly, he had talked himself out of searching for Kurusu for so long.

Standing slack jawed behind the counter, a dingy washcloth in hand, was Sakura Sojiro—

“Crow?”

—and there, in one of the booths, was Sakura Futaba. Her face slid quickly from surprise to something altogether too knowing. In a movement so swift Goro nearly didn’t catch it, her phone was in her hands. She tapped away at it, then pocketed it and stood, almost bowling over Goro as she rushed up the stairs.

Something unfamiliar settled in Goro’s stomach. Resigning himself to his fate, he took a seat on one of the stools. “Could I perhaps get a cup of coffee before everyone arrives and turns this into a waking nightmare?”

Without breaking eye contact, but looking a bit more composed, Sakura poured a cup and slid it across the counter to him. Goro took a grateful sip. Maybe the warmth of the drink would help soothe the tightness in his chest. 

That hope was dashed when Sakura opened his mouth. “Even on good days, I don’t understand half of what goes on in that kid’s mind.”

Goro scowled into his drink. One didn’t need to be a detective to know which of his wards Sakura was referring to. There was no point in playing dumb. “None of this was my choice.”

“That isn’t my point,” Sakura said sharply. “I can’t claim to understand how Akira thinks, but the way he feels is a different matter. He likes you, for some reason. Maybe he even loves you. You’d have to be a fool not to see it, and we both know you’re not a fool.”

“I’m aware of the way he feels.” Goro’s grip on the cup tightened. 

“Good.” Sakura smiled. “It doesn’t matter if you intend to follow through on it or not. Maybe it’d make him happy, but so does his life now.”

“Then why are you telling me this?”

“It doesn’t take romance to break someone’s heart.” Sakura replied. Behind his conversational tone laid cold, hard steel, sharpened to a razor’s edge. “You’ve done it before.”

A shudder crawled up Goro’s spine. He pushed his coffee, still unfinished, away from him, and shut his eyes. Kurusu’s face, blood seeping from a bullet hole put there by none other than Goro himself; Kurusu’s face, frozen in shock and horror as a metal wall dropped into place between them; Kurusu’s face, vulnerability shifting into a cold, distant acceptance that not even the lights of Leblanc could warm. And then there was the night before. _“I’m not leaving you behind. Don’t ask me to.”_

He was spared from answering by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Following Futaba was Kurusu, still dressed in nightclothes and with terrible bedhead. The guilt— was that what it was?— gnawing at Goro ebbed away, to the point where he found himself stifling a snicker behind his hand. Kurusu’s eyes snapped to him. Surprise and something else warred on his face until he settled into a politely blank expression, all in the span of less than a second.

“Good morning,” Kurusu greeted him, perching on the stool next to him. Sakura poured him a cup of coffee without prompting, shooting Goro one last look. 

“Good morning,” Goro echoed, averting his eyes from the two of them.

A ball of black fur jumped onto the counter by his elbow, nearly making him jump. He resisted the urge to shove Morgana to the ground when the cat circled him to stand over his coffee.

“Why are you alive?”

“Morgana,” Kurusu hissed.

Morgana bristled. “It’s a valid question! He shouldn’t be alive!”

Goro cleared his throat. “The question you’re looking for is ‘how are you alive’,” he said, “unless you’re looking for a philosophical discussion in which I would certainly outdo you.”

“Yeah, yeah, that.” Morgana’s tail lashed. 

“You’re not exactly one to talk,” Kurusu pointed out. “You vanished and came back, too.”

“But I’m made from cognition! And I had all of you to bring me back!”

The implication was clear. Goro had no one, no one who cared enough to even know that he was gone, let alone bring him back. Still, something about what Morgana said was strange.

“What are you referring to, when you say he vanished and came back?” 

Kurusu set his coffee cup down, eyes hidden in the glare of his glasses. “Right. I forgot you were… gone when that happened.”

“Dead, you mean,” Goro replied. “Don’t bother beating around the bush.”

Kurusu didn’t acknowledge him. “I told you the basics, but I guess I didn’t mention this.” He tugged at a curl of hair. “Morgana was created from the remnants of people’s hope, so he was tied to the Metaverse. When it disappeared, so did he.”

“And somehow you and the Phantom Thieves brought him back.” Goro sneered and took a sip of his drink, nudging Morgana aside to get to it. “With what, the power of friendship?”

“Well, yeah.”

Goro choked, sending coffee spilling over the side of his cup. “Excuse me?”

“The bonds we had with Morgana were enough to bring him back.” Kurusu shrugged and rested his elbows on the table. “I don’t know how it works.”

“If you’re hoping my story will shed light on the matter, don’t,” Goro said dryly, dabbing at the counter with a napkin. “I woke up and the world had forgotten my existence. That’s all there is to it.”

“You don’t know who did it?” Morgana asked.

“I’m not the type to make conjectures without evidence.”

Kurusu’s eyes narrowed at him, but before he could press Goro’s statement, the door to Leblanc swung open. In walked most of the ex-Thieves. Goro resisted the urge to groan. Makoto led the way, followed by Haru, Ryuji, and Yusuke. Since when had he started thinking of them by those names? No, it didn't matter. What mattered was that he had to face them all at once. No more waiting or hiding. 

Once they were all settled in the nearest booth, he turned around on his stool and leaned back against the counter. “Let’s get this over with. I assume you’re all here to interrogate me on the details of my reappearance nine years ago?”

“You would be correct,” Makoto said. The look on her face was nearly identical to the one Sae wore when she was about to scold Goro for neglecting his health during difficult cases, and he could barely bring himself to meet her gaze. “But this isn’t an interrogation. We’re just trying to figure out how it happened.”

He would have to tread carefully. Makoto was clever even during their days in high school, and from how Sae talked about her, she’d only gotten more perceptive with time.

“Very well.” Goro crossed his arms and legs. “Ask me what you must.”

“What day did you return?”

“December 24th, in the evening.”

“Just like the first time around,” Makoto noted. “Why did you not stop Akira’s arrest this time?”

“I was… disoriented, for lack of a better word.” His eyes flickered to Kurusu sitting beside him, posture tense. “For all intents and purposes, I should have been dead. When I finally gathered myself enough to look into it, I realized that I no longer existed the way I had before.”

“What did you do afterwards?”

Goro’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I started anew.” After countless nights spent in despair before Sae discovered him, but that was no one’s business but his. “What else is one to do when a second chance drops into their lap?”

He sensed Ryuji’s scowl only an instant before the man’s fist slammed down on the table. “What about all the people you killed? Why do you deserve to walk away after everything you did, when Akira had to go to prison for helping people?”

Kurusu shot his friend a warning look, but Goro let Ryuji’s words skim off him like water off a duck’s back. “I didn’t spend the last nine years with meaningless frivolities,” he replied. “I’m no saint and I never will be, but I’ve done my best to atone. It is not, however, your place to judge whether I’ve done so successfully. Do you have any more relevant questions?”

Ryuji glared, but said nothing. 

Makoto continued with her line of questioning. “Why did you show up now?”

“It wasn’t intentional, believe me. If I hadn’t discovered what I believe to be a new iteration of the Metaverse in my bathroom mirror, I would have gladly gone the rest of my days without seeing any of you.”

“What was that about a new Metaverse?” Morgana asked sharply.

Kurusu broke in. “It’s where we found each other, last night. There was a place that looked like the ruins of Kamoshida’s Palace.”

“And you went in without consulting any of us,” Makoto said, turning the full force of her stare onto Kurusu. The table of Thieves cringed in sympathy.

Kurusu’s face was unreadable. “Correct.”

“What would you have done if you couldn’t get out?” Haru piped up.

“I would have found a way,” he argued, but it fell flat under the weight of Haru and Makoto’s matching expressions of disapproval. 

“I suppose we should investigate, then,” Makoto sighed.

“No.” All eyes were on Kurusu again, but he didn’t shy from the attention. “If we were meant to be there, I would have seen Lavenza or Igor at some point. Whatever’s going on there isn’t our fight.”

“We can’t just do nothing,” Futaba said.

“I didn’t say we had to,” Kurusu replied. “If we happen to, say, come across some newly fledged Persona users, there’s nothing stopping us from providing non-combat assistance.”

Goro gave Kurusu a flat look, even as realization dawned on the faces of the Thieves. Of course he would find a way to bend the rules to do what he wanted. Perhaps it was a good cause, but it was uncanny how easily Kurusu twisted situations and dodged consequences. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what might’ve occurred if the man didn’t have such a soft heart. Would he have still managed to find his way into the Metaverse? If he had, would he have used it in the same way Goro had? It occurred to Goro then that he didn’t know much about Kurusu’s past. He’d looked into it briefly, enough to uncover that he was an only child, born and raised in a small, nothing town without any notable anomalies. On the surface, it all seemed picture perfect, but Goro hadn’t heard Kurusu mention his parents in a single one of their conversations. That on its own didn’t mean anything, perhaps he’d abstained because of Goro’s own questionable past, but something about it still irked him. 

A chorus of raucous laughter rang out from the booth, knocking Goro from his thoughts. He wasn’t quite sure how much he missed, but as he looked at the self-satisfied grin on Kurusu’s face, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He settled back on his seat, closing his eyes and allowing the chatter to wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I had a lot of fun writing from Akechi's POV because he's just such a wordy bastard. I do still have a plan for the plot, but I will tell you that the new Metaverse is more of a backdrop to the plot, instead of the plot itself. It'll show up and be mentioned, but there won't be many more scenes within it. I'm not totally in love with how this chapter ended, so I may make minor cosmetic edits, but plot-wise it's broken up where it felt right.
> 
> I plan for the next chapter to also be from Akechi's perspective (I don't have a plan for alternating the POV, so I'm just going with whoever fits better for the chapter's main plot), which will hopefully make it easier on me since I feel more comfortable writing him than Akira, but we've reached the end of my reserve of prewritten scenes, so it may take longer to put up. 
> 
> If you have any questions, comments, or constructive criticism, feel free to leave a comment! As always, thanks for reading!


	4. Rivals and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one little note before this chapter: I had planned for this fic to be 100% f-bomb free, just because I know not everyone is comfortable with especially strong language. However, one specific character (I'm sure you can guess who) decided to drop as many as he could in this chapter alone, so my apologies in advance.

Goro’s eyes narrowed at his phone screen, but no matter how much he glared, the words remained the same. Matsumoto Ayaka was no longer missing. In fact, she’d been found alive and well outside Kosei’s dorms, a little dazed and bruised but no worse for wear. Under any other circumstances, it would have been good news, but apparently she had no memory of her disappearance. Makoto— if he were a better person, he would have told her he was the anonymous consultant she was working with when he had the chance, but she would figure it out eventually— forbade him from reaching out to her until she’d had time to recover, so he was stuck following other leads.

A few weeks back, when he was still on the case for the murders without a cause of death, he’d come across articles about a series of disappearances in a small town called Inaba. At the time, he’d dismissed them as interesting but irrelevant, but Matsumoto’s case rang far too many bells for him to ignore them any longer. The lead detective on the case was one Dojima Ryotaro, and if Goro could just talk to him, he was certain he could pry something important out of him.

The only issue: Goro was no longer a famous celebrity detective. The only person who knew who he was in his full capacity was Sae, and he couldn’t ask her to do any more for him than she already had. Any detective worth his salt would say nothing to an uninvolved civilian, though, especially one approaching him out of the blue.

So Dojima was a dead end, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t glean anything from the articles. Perhaps he could drop a hint to Makoto about them somehow. She was sharp enough to figure out the connection, surely, and she had far more resources than he did. Or he could drop more than a hint. Makoto was certain to be in her office in the middle of a weekday, and he could sweet-talk his way past everyone else. Besides, now that she knew he was alive, there was no point in him keeping up the facade of anonymity.

It was a short trip to get there, and Goro was fortunate enough to not have to weasel his way inside. Instead, Makoto and Haru were walking side by side out of the building. He sped up his steps until he was standing in front of them.

“Akechi,” Makoto greeted him, raising a single brow. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Goro smiled, though it dropped quickly. “I wasn’t aware you would be on break, but now that I’ve run into you, would you be willing to spare me a moment of your time?”

Makoto looked to Haru, who nodded. “Alright. What is it?”

“I would have sent you an email, but I thought it was high time for us to meet in person.”

Confusion flitted across Makoto’s expression, followed by a dawning realization. “You’re the consultant Sae recommended. How long have you been working with her?”

“Since I got out of therapy,” Goro replied coolly. “I worked as her assistant while I went through law school, but I decided I would prefer to be a freelance agent afterwards.” He frowned when Makoto’s brows pulled together. “Don’t blame her for keeping this a secret. It wasn’t hers to tell.”

Makoto hesitated, but nodded. “Fine. What did you want to share with me?”

Goro pulled up the oldest article on his phone and handed it to her. “Regarding the disappearance.”

Makoto took the phone from him, stepping to the side to read without getting in the way of foot traffic. Haru smiled politely at him as the two of them waited for her to finish.

“How long have you been in Tokyo, Akechi-kun?”

“Nine years,” he replied. “I left briefly to go to a rehab center, but I stayed here otherwise.” Normally he never would have considered sharing that detail, but some part of him whispered that it was the least he could do after killing Haru’s father in cold blood. Besides, the Thieves had moved off the topic of him easily enough when they grabbed onto the idea of a new Metaverse. Dropping a few more details couldn’t hurt.

“I see.” Haru’s face was friendly, but he couldn’t read any further into it than that. He filed the fact away with no small degree of astonishment. “You told Ryuji-kun it wasn’t his place to judge your atonement, but I think it is mine.”

Goro averted his gaze. “Yes, I believe it is.”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Haru smile, the same smile she wore when brandishing her axe at a group of Shadows, and panic and dread washed over him as surely as if she tossed a vial of fear gas at him. Goro had no doubt that nothing he did to make up for his crimes would be enough for her. 

But she must have seen something in his face then, because her expression softened. She put a hand on his shoulder and he went stock-still. “I think you’ve been through enough, Akechi-kun. Mako-chan, could you put all of our numbers in his phone?”

“That’s… really not necessary,” he protested, but both women ignored him. 

Haru patted his shoulder. “If you ever need to talk to anyone, just text one of us.”

Makoto dropped the phone back into Goro’s hands. “If you’d rather never talk to us again, that’s alright too, but I doubt that’s the case. I’ll be sure to look more into the article in the meantime.”

Goro stared dumbly at the phone in his hands, his contacts page glowing innocently up at him. “... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Akechi-kun. Now, it was lovely seeing you, but Mako-chan and I have a lunch date to keep.” Haru dropped her hand from Goro’s shoulder and intertwined her fingers with Makoto’s, before strolling off without a care in the world and tugging Makoto along behind her.

Goro remained frozen in place, even as his thoughts raced by faster than he could catch them. He managed to shake them off long enough to scroll through the newly-added contacts. Each one of the Thieves was there, but there was only one that Goro lingered on. The last time he’d seen Kurusu was when he went by Leblanc on Monday evening to return the borrowed shoes. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, had barely exchanged small talk, and Goro left feeling more dissatisfied than when he came.

More likely than not, Kurusu was at work. Would he be annoyed if Goro called him? Knowing him, he probably wouldn’t be, though there was no guarantee he would pick up. Perhaps a text would be better.

**You:** This is Akechi Goro.  
 **You:** We need to talk.

He hardly needed to wait for the response.

**Kurusu Akira:** Are you breaking up with me?

**You:** No.  
 **You:** Meet me at my apartment when you’re off of work.

**Kurusu Akira:** !!!

Goro sent him his address and stuffed his phone back into his pocket, doing his best to ignore the way his cheeks flushed. Kurusu’s joking flirtations were nothing new, but somehow Goro was affected every time. 

There was no point in lingering on it, though. He’d see Kurusu soon enough, and he had plenty of things to do in the meantime. The most important of those things would be to sort through the articles and try to figure out the relation to Matsumoto’s disappearance. It may have only been a hunch, but Goro had no doubt they were connected. Two instances of teenage girls going missing and appearing a short while later with no memory of their disappearance? There were far too many similarities to just be a coincidence. If the articles were to be believed, Matsumoto wouldn’t be the only one to go missing. This was a case Goro needed to solve before it got any more out of hand.

——

Goro was hunched over an array of decade-old newspaper clippings when there was a knock on the door. He stood and stretched, cringing when his back popped.

When he opened the door, there was Kurusu, two thermoses balanced in the crook of his elbow. Kurusu smiled when he spotted Goro, and even that tiny quirk of his lips was nearly too bright for Goro to handle. 

“I thought you might appreciate some coffee,” Kurusu said. “I know you work hard.” He held out one of the mugs, and Goro took it without protest. 

“Thank you.” Goro stepped aside, which was all the invitation Kurusu needed to stroll into the apartment like he owned the place. Kurusu always had been far too comfortable in spaces that weren’t his.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Goro had rehearsed what he wanted to say a few times, until he was confident he could get through it without revealing any unnecessary feelings, but it all flew out of his head under the weight of Kurusu’s inquisitive gaze. “I…” He cleared his throat and started again. “I wanted to apologize. For the way I treated you. At Shujin.” The words came out bumbling and uncertain, but he managed not to cringe.

“Akechi.” Kurusu’s voice was soft, barely audible even in the quiet of Goro’s apartment. “We were both in shock. I shouldn’t have gone in swinging.”

Resolve settled in Goro’s bones then, and he jutted his chin out. “No.”

“What?”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’ve done many wrongs in my life, to you and the Thieves in particular. Nothing you could do or say can compare. I will be the only one apologizing tonight.”

Kurusu’s eyebrows shot up, but his expression soon settled into one of vague amusement. As much as he hated to admit it, Goro had gotten good at reading past Kurusu’s masks of impassivity, to the point where most of them were clear as day. “Go on, then. I won’t stop you.”

“I… had a plethora of problems when we were in high school. That isn’t an excuse, but it is an explanation. My mother was the only person who ever loved me, and Shido—” he swallowed back the venom that threatened to spill out alongside that accursed name and continued— “took her from me. No matter how much fame I accrued, no matter how much I held the adoration of the crowds, none of it could ever compare.” He noticed Kurusu opening his mouth, and held up a hand to silence him. “I’m not saying this to garner your pity. I don’t need it.” Kurusu backed down and Goro closed his eyes to gather himself. “By the time I met you, I was too far gone. There was nothing you could have done to bring me back from the brink.

“But I admired you. Somewhere along the way, that admiration turned into love. Or at least, the closest thing to love I could manage then.” Something like laughter spilled from his lips, sharp, brittle shards of glass. “For the first time since my mother died, I lost my resolve. And I hated you for it. I did the only thing I could think to do and threw myself into eliminating you. I was a terrible person back then, and I’m not a good person now, but I can at least recognize that I owe you an apology for all the harm I’ve done. So here it is. I’m sorry.”

He opened his eyes to see Kurusu staring at him, but the man said nothing. Finally, Kurusu set his mug down and reached into his bag. When he pulled his hand out, there was a bundle of worn leather clutched in his fist.

“We made a promise,” Kurusu said, and Goro recognized the bundle for what it was. His old glove. “I always intended to keep it. It wasn’t healthy, not in the slightest, but some part of me knew it wasn’t the last time I’d see you.”

“You and your hunches,” Goro snapped. To his horror, his eyes watered. “You sentimental, pathetic fool.” Even through his tears, he could make out Kurusu’s grin.

“We don’t really have a spot to duel, and I don’t really think either of us are up for it right now, but—”

“Bullshit.” Goro wiped his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself. “There’s the Metaverse in the mirror.”

Kurusu laughed. “I suppose there’s nothing like a good old-fashioned beatdown to work out our feelings,” he teased. “Lead the way.”

“Did you even bring your weapons?” Goro scolded.

Kurusu patted his bag. “Got them right here.”

Goro’s eyes narrowed. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No, but I won’t lie and say I didn’t think it was a possibility.”

“You’re insufferable,” he said even as he led the way to his room to grab his own gear.

“So I’ve been told.”

Goro rolled his eyes as he ushered Kurusu into his bathroom, stopping only briefly to pick up the bag he’d stuffed under the bed. Was it smart for them to go into the Metaverse when they didn’t have a consistent way out? Not at all. Was it what Goro needed after the week he’d had? Absolutely. Besides, they still had plenty of time left in the day if things took a turn for the worse. 

He allowed Kurusu to step through the mirror first, and followed through a few seconds after. Their outfits changed in bursts of blue fire as they fell, Kurusu catching himself in a roll and Goro landing in a crouch.

“Here should be—” Goro’s glove hit the ground at his feet before he could even finish his sentence. He scoffed and scooped it up, tucking it in his belt before drawing his sword. 

Across from him, several paces away, Kurusu settled into a fighting stance. Though Loki was fast, Arsene was faster, and Goro hardly had time to register the attack coming at him before he was struck by a storm of red and black, stealing the breath from his lungs. He shook it off without too much trouble— though Kurusu and Arsene hit much harder than they had in the belly of Shido’s ship— and tightened his grip on his sword.

“Curse, really?” he taunted. “You’d better not be taking it easy on me, or I’ll tear you to shreds!” He racked his brain for the memory of what Arsene was weak against. Kurusu had always been swift to change him out when he thought a different Persona would be more effective, but Goro was fairly certain he’d switched Arsene out the most when facing an enemy with bless skills, especially during Sae’s Palace.

It had been a while since he called upon Robin Hood for any reason, but it took hardly any effort at all to pull him out. Even Loki’s hissed protests were quieter than usual, likely at the promise of bloodshed if he managed to knock Kurusu down. Robin Hood was a tricky gambit, if he was wrong about Arsene’s weakness, but if he was right, it would be well worth it to see Kurusu’s face when Goro knocked him off his feet.

Goro raised his arm, and Robin Hood readied an arrow of light on his bow. The Kougaon struck true, but instead of falling to the ground, Kurusu seemed to absorb the golden glow. 

“Fuck.”

Arsene spread his wings and sent another cursed flurry his way. There was no doubt in Goro’s mind that he could not allow himself to get hit by it. Of course, with no formation he needed to hold, he could take more reckless defensive maneuvers. He managed to dive out of the way, rolling his way back up to his feet.

Unlike the fight days earlier, facing off against Kurusu sent adrenaline rushing through him, a heady thrill that only multiplied as he yanked Loki back to the forefront of his mind. 

“Let’s crush him,” he snarled. “Loki!”

A single Debilitate would be enough to tip the scales in his direction, even in the face of Arsene’s new resistances. Kurusu’s swear carried across the battlefield, and Goro barked out a laugh. Kurusu may have bested him when he was relying on Robin Hood, but Loki was leagues above the Detective Prince persona he wore years ago.

Kurusu held a hand to his mask, and Arsene was replaced with a hideous, towering figure. Goro cringed. Right. He’d forgotten about Satan. 

Instead of attacking, Kurusu was deeply focused, Satan practically glowing above him. Whatever was coming would hit fast and hard, and Goro could either hunker down to try to defend himself, or hit faster and harder. He knew which one he’d rather do.

Loki reached into him, drawing from his energy before lashing out. Though Goro was left staggering in pain, it was well worth it to watch his Persona tear into Kurusu. It wasn’t enough to take him down, of course it wasn’t, but he’d certainly come out of it looking worse for wear. 

Kurusu put a hand to his mask, some conjured wind blowing the tails of his coat dramatically behind him. Then there was no more time for thoughts, as a giant snake’s head rose from the ground and closed its jaws around Goro. Each point where its teeth sank in flared up in agony, even long after the snake had faded into nothingness. 

Goro bared his teeth, dragging in a breath that rattled in his chest. He had just enough in him to allow Loki one more Laevateinn, but if it didn’t take Kurusu down, he was done for. 

Well, let it never be said that Akechi Goro did not take risks. 

“It’s over!” he shrieked, thrusting his arm out and allowing Loki to surge forward through him. The force of it nearly knocked him over, but he raised his sword and used the momentum to rush ahead and strike as one with his Persona. 

Kurusu went down, and Goro tumbled to the ground along with him.

“I think—” Kurusu huffed out a laugh, tossing his arm over his eyes— “we can call that a draw.”

“You wish,” Goro grumbled, aiming a weak kick at him.

“Unless you’re capable of standing, neither of us won that.” The air above Kurusu shimmered with the figure of a blue, horned woman wielding two large swords, and a Mediarahan washed over them. Kurusu’s particular brand of healing was warm and calm, wrapping around him with the comfort of a quiet night nursing a cup of coffee. If they weren’t in the middle of a potentially hostile universe, he might’ve taken the time to bask in it.

Instead, Goro rolled his eyes and sat up, then froze. There, standing just out of range of the battlefield, was a set of three mismatched figures. Two at least seemed to be human, but the third was more reminiscent of Morgana. They were too far away to make out clearly, which meant that they were also too far away to be an immediate threat. 

“Joker, we have company.” 

Kurusu was instantly alert, rising to his feet in a single motion. “Let’s get out of here.” He didn’t wait for a response before grabbing Goro’s wrist and tugging him up. The two of them set off running in the opposite direction of the group. 

“Any chance your precious intuition can tell us where an exit is?” 

“Aw, and to think we were bonding.”

“Shut up and think, Joker,” he snarled, and yanked his arm free. “I will not have some unknown Metaverse users discover us here.”

“Little too late for that,” Kurusu shot back, but Goro could see the gears turning in his brain. He changed paths, slipping on the glass as he turned. Goro scrambled to follow and managed to not fall flat on his face. 

It wasn’t hard to see where Kurusu was aiming for. Ahead of them, wreathed in garish fluorescent lights that gleamed and danced in the reflection on the floor, was the remains of Sae’s casino. Goro risked glancing back. The group was still there, but further away, held back by the vaguely humanoid figure. What was stopping them from giving chase?

He got his answer when the rattling of chains echoed around them. An instant later, he ran into Kurusu’s back and sent both of them sprawling across the ground.

“What the fuck, Joker,” he hissed. “You were supposed to lead us to an exit, not to the one thing here that could _actually fucking kill us_!”

Kurusu was too busy untangling them to answer. He managed to get them both to their feet just in time for them to dive apart. A bullet passed through the space where they’d been, striking the glass hard enough for it to splinter. 

“Joker,” Goro said through gritted teeth. “I take back every word of my apology.”

“Save hating me for when we get out of this, Crow,” Kurusu replied, Arsene already materializing above him.

Goro staggered to his feet, pulling out his gun. “Fine. It doesn’t have any weaknesses, so hit it hard and hit it fast.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kurusu shot him one of his wicked grins, and the two of them rushed the Reaper in tandem. 

Goro raised his gun, centering the Reaper’s head in his sights before firing. It barely flinched, but that was enough for Kurusu to dive in and slash his dagger across its chest. 

The next thing he knew, the Reaper fired its gun into the air and the blue-white glow of a Megidolaon exploded outwards. Pain flared in every nerve of his body. When he looked to his right, Kurusu was hunched in on himself. 

“Crow, you’ve got to lower its attack,” Kurusu ordered, his voice tight. “We’ll never win if I have to spend the entire time healing us.”

“Tch.” Kurusu was right, but Goro wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, he summoned Loki and did as he asked. 

At his side, Kurusu called upon the blue woman once more, and the pain dissipated. There was no time to relax, though, as in the next instant, the Reaper struck Kurusu with a Freidyne and knocked him off his feet. 

“Get up, Joker!” Goro called, stepping out of the way of the following Hamaon. “Or are you planning to die here?” He took the opening provided by the missed attack to strike at the Reaper with a Laevateinn, cackling when it recoiled. “Serves you right!”

Kurusu rolled up to his feet and cast another Mediarahan over them. In the corner of his vision, Goro noticed the Reaper charging up.

“We need to block,” he hissed. “You’d better switch to Arsene, or this next one might be the thing to kill you.”

“Got it.” Kurusu did as he asked without protesting, the image of Arsene flashing above him.

Though the Reaper hit hard, the two of them had regained their footing. In the blur of blades and Personas that followed, there was hardly any time for complex strategy. Goro let Kurusu take the lead and call out commands, following a pattern of dodge, debilitate, and attack over and over again. His fight against Kurusu, though swift and ruthless, had been meticulous, the give and take of two strategists pitting their wits against each other. 

Against the Reaper, it was kill or be killed, and Goro was not about to let himself be killed when he’d come so far. 

Sometimes his feet didn’t move fast enough to dodge a stray bullet or Megidolaon, but Kurusu managed to always be at his back to steady him and boost him back to full strength. 

The Reaper was flagging. One last push would take it out, and one last push was something Goro could provide. As if sensing his thoughts, it turned its sightless gaze onto him and pointed its pistol between his eyes. The muzzle flared pure white, and Goro’s lungs seized.

Everything went blank. 

…

“—row. Crow? Akechi? Please, get up, you have to. Come on, Goro, you can’t leave me now.”

Goro pried his eyes open, Kurusu’s face fading in and out of focus above him. “I do what I want.”

“Oh thank god,” Kurusu breathed. The look on his face, though softened by relief, was something haunted, brows drawn and eyes somewhere far away. “We’ve got to go before it comes back. Can you stand?”

“I’ll manage.” Goro blinked away the fog in his brain. He took Kurusu’s offered hand and let the man haul him to his feet. When he swayed, Kurusu wrapped an arm around his waist and tossed Goro’s arm over his shoulder.

“We are never coming here without backup again,” Kurusu seethed as he walked him towards the casino. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“I don’t recall you needing much convincing.” Indignation flared in his gut, but he bit it back. “You were the one to challenge me.”

“I keep my promises,” Kurusu snapped.

Goro sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. This is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time.”

“Um, hello?”

Fuck. 

They’d forgotten about the other potential Persona users. Kurusu went rigid, but still managed to turn them around and flash a brilliant smirk.

“Can we help you?” he asked, his voice dripping with forced carelessness.

“Yes!” The girl in front of them, now close enough that Goro could see she was wearing some odd, reflective armor, lit up. “You two were so cool, and you even took out that super strong Shadow! Can you teach us how to do that stuff?” She gestured behind her, where a surly boy and a strange fox-like creature were standing awkwardly by. “We only just learned about all this Persona stuff, and we don’t really know how to fight together well.”

Goro froze. He recognized them, or, at least, the two humans. The girl— he couldn’t recall her name— was Matsumoto’s roommate, and the boy was none other than Iwata Kaito. He wasn’t aware that the two of them were on friendly enough terms to spend time together without Matsumoto, though he had the sneaking suspicion it was a rather recent development.

“Lavenza is going to kill me,” Kurusu muttered under his breath, then raised his voice. “We’re actually not supposed to be here. We were just on our way out.”

The girl’s grin only widened. “We can help you with that, if you just give us a little tip.” 

Goro raised his eyes skyward. He would _not_ attack newly fledged Persona users, no matter how annoying they were or how tempting it was to imagine shutting them up.

“Fine,” Kurusu replied. “There are only a few of you, so until you get more people, stealth will be your greatest weapon. Make sure you always get the first strike, and run away if you get in over your head. Better wounded pride than dead. I can’t tell you how to work well together, that’s something you learn through practice.”

“Thank you!”

“Now, I believe we were promised a way out?” Goro drawled.

“Of course!” The girl gave a pointed look to the fox-creature, who sighed and flicked a hand.

A full-body mirror rose from the glass, shimmering and finally settling on the image of a subway bathroom.

Goro grimaced. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

Beside him, Kurusu remained silent. The two of them stepped up to the mirror, but before Goro could let go of him and walk through, Kurusu laid his palm flat against its surface. Before their eyes, it rippled and morphed to show the inside of Goro’s apartment.

All of the adrenaline rushed out of him in an instant, leaving him with a cold, dreadful clarity. He could write off Kurusu expecting to find something important in the place where a Treasure used to reside, but the power to change the destination of the mirror was something that he should not have held. 

Not bothering with goodbyes, Goro dragged Kurusu through the mirror, and they tumbled to the floor together.

Kurusu sat up. “What was that for?” His gaze was sharp behind his glasses. “They helped us, the least we could have done was take the time to thank them.”

Rage simmered in Goro’s chest, a fire screaming to be let out. The perfect target was standing in front of him, the man to blame for his entire existence. Were any of his choices his own, or had he just been a puppet in Kurusu’s long game? He didn’t know, but all the pieces were falling into place. Kurusu being the one to find him first, Kurusu running into him in the Metaverse, Kurusu convincing him to stay…

He twisted his fingers in his hair and tugged, sharply. None of it made sense, Kurusu had shut down Maruki’s reality, he wouldn’t do that just to turn around and create his own, but Goro was there and Goro was alive and no one else could have done it, it had to be him, it was always him—

“Akechi?” 

Hearing his name from Kurusu’s mouth snapped him back into reality, but it did nothing but fuel the flames.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled.

Surprise flashed across Kurusu’s face, before his expression shut down. “Where is this coming from?”

“You know exactly what.” Goro had trusted him to do what was right, and Kurusu had the audacity to not only spit on his last wishes, but pretend he had no idea what he was talking about. He needed him gone, needed time to think without those grey eyes beseeching him. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, and don’t come back.”

Kurusu opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I suppose that’s what I promised.” He pulled the two thermoses of coffee back out of his bag and set them down. “Take care of yourself, Akechi. You have my number if you need anything.” 

“I won’t be using it.”

Something like anger flared in Kurusu’s face, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood, turned away, and walked out the door, leaving Goro with nothing but his empty apartment.

Without Kurusu there to direct his fury at, the fire died down, but he couldn’t feel anything but numb. Kurusu had brought him back from the dead, he was sure of it. No one else who knew about his death would have cared enough to do anything about it, and clearly Kurusu had some sway over cognition. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was how Kurusu had gotten that power.

Goro took a deep, shaky breath, and reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed against soft leather, and his chest constricted. He ripped the glove from his pocket and threw it across the room with a shout. There was no one he could talk to about this, no one who understood cognition in the same intimate way as a Persona user did.

Except… Haru had put all of the Thieves’ numbers in his phone, hadn’t she? The thought of talking to any of them after throwing Kurusu out of his home made him feel sick, but he had to figure out whether he was right or jumping to conclusions. 

He pulled out his phone and composed a message with trembling fingers. Before he could second-guess his decision, he pressed send and set it aside.

In the meantime, there was a case for him to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, I lied in my previous version of this end note. This chapter has now been edited. It doesn't affect the plot very much, I've just adjusted the order of a few events. If you've just finished reading this chapter, don't worry, you have about the same amount of knowledge as the people who read the pre-edit version, I've just cut out a confrontation that will not happen later, and done some cosmetic edits to make it flow better. 
> 
> Hopefully now that I've adjusted it, chapter 5 will come easier, since I was feeling rather stuck where I'd left it before.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave questions/comments/constructive criticism, and I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Yeah, I have no excuse for myself. It's been what, two, maybe three months since the last chapter? Turns out that writing Akira while also doing college stuff is painful. Akira and I do not vibe, but his chapters are necessary for, like, plot and stuff. 
> 
> Again, sorry this took so long. I probably should have set myself an update schedule or something, to push myself to actually work and get things done. Turns out procrastinating studying for the math final I have tomorrow is a pretty solid motivator. I'll try to get another chapter or two out during break, especially since next quarter is gonna have an even heavier workload for me, but I'll say right now that I make no promises.

**Ann:** Ryuji says to tell you to stop sulking.  
 **Ann:** Did things not go well with Akechi?

——

**Ann:** Seriously, Akira, what’s going on with you? I know you’re reading these.  
 **Ann:** My flight arrives tomorrow night, and you’d better be at the counter of Leblanc to greet me Sunday morning.

——

**Ann:** I just landed, I’ll see you tomorrow!  
 **Ann:** If you aren’t at Leblanc, I will find you. 

——

_Red-brown eyes locked onto Akira, and the rest of the world faded around them. Even with the barrel of Akechi’s gun pointed at him, Akira could only look past the black mask to see the gears turning in his mind. As stupid as his plan for vengeance was, Akechi was one of the smartest people Akira knew. If anyone could get them out of the situation, it was him._

_Akechi’s lips moved, but no words reached Akira’s ears as the barrel of the gun shifted to the right. A shot whizzed past his head, nearly grazing his ear._

_The world shattered._

_Thousands of shards of glass spun through the air, fragments of the most important people in Akira’s life swirling around him like so many leaves in a hurricane._

_“So, this is what is at the depths of the fabled Trickster’s heart.” The shards heeded the voice’s call, rushing together and reforming into the shape of a man with shimmering, translucent skin. “Guilt and regret. Pathetic.”_

Excuse me? _Akira tried to say, but his mouth could not move. Before his eyes, the man’s form shifted and melted until he wore the skin and clothes of Joker, eyes flashing yellow behind his mask before settling into Akira’s own light grey. His lips were pulled taut into a too-wide smile, no sign of mirth behind the black and white mask._

_“You hold so much power at your fingertips, yet you’re too ignorant to grasp it.”_

_Something in Akira’s chest buzzed, followed by a pinging sound._

_“Farewell, Trickster. We’ll meet again soon.”_

Akira’s eyes snapped open, but the buzzing didn’t stop. His phone, still on his chest from where he’d left it last night, pinged again. He lifted it up, squinting against the harsh glow. 

**Ann:** I’m here. Get up.  
 **Ann:** If you’re not down here in one minute, I’m coming up.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, followed shortly by Ann hauling a large bag up the stairs, and any thoughts of the strange dream flew from his mind. 

“I brought face masks and all the unhealthy food I can carry, so you’d better be out of bed in the next ten seconds or I’m dragging you out. We’re going to sit down and have a self-care day, and you’re going to tell me everything.” She set the bag down on the floor and crouched beside it, tugging the zipper open and digging through its contents.

Akira frowned at her but set aside his phone, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Why?”

Ann looked up at him. Her eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you look awful!”

Akira rubbed at his face. “Thanks.” 

“Sorry,” Ann said, cringing, “but you look like you haven’t slept in a week. Guess it’s a good thing I brought all this stuff, huh?” Apparently giving up on her search, she upturned the bag and let its contents spill out onto the floor.

“I guess.”

With a triumphant cry, Ann pulled two thin packages out of the pile. She gestured to the spot on the floor next to her one. “Sit down. Once it’s on, talk.”

Akira grimaced, but did as she asked. Ann combed back his hair and clipped it into place, ripped open one of the packages, and pulled out the face mask inside. She laid it over his face and patted it into place. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said, shutting his eyes.

“What happened when you met up with Akechi on Wednesday?”

Akira let out a long breath through his nose, leaning back against the couch. Still, he recounted all of the events of that day, from Akechi texting him out of the blue to Akechi kicking him out of his apartment after they returned from the Metaverse. He left out the details of Akechi’s apology. They were for him and Akechi alone.

When he opened his eyes, Ann was staring at him from behind her own facemask. 

“Seriously?” she exclaimed. “You just left it like that?”

“I promised him if he didn’t want to see me again, he wouldn’t have to.” Akira frowned. “I keep my promises.”

Ann groaned and dropped her head back on the couch cushions. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask questions. What if he changed his mind once he calmed down?”

“If he wanted me to come back, he would have texted me.”

“Ugh. You don’t even know why he wanted you gone in the first place! How much effort does it take to just ask?”

“You didn’t see him,” Akira insisted. “He was furious, yeah, but…” He pressed his lips together, considering his next words carefully. “It was more than that. He looked… scared. I want him to be happy.”

“Yeah, because you’re a sap in love. Don’t you deserve to be happy, too?”

Akira opened his eyes to glare at her. “Not at his expense.”

Ann just rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. I don’t mean it like that. But why was he scared? If you asked questions instead of just running off, maybe you’d know whether it was something you could help with.” She reached down and grabbed a package of sweet buns, tearing it open with her teeth before holding it out towards him. 

He took one but made no move to eat it. “He said that I know what I did. This is something I have to figure out on my own.”

“Not on your own,” Ann replied with a smile. “All of the rest of us are here to help.”

Akira screwed up his face. “I guess.” He bit back a smile, turning his face away.

Ann poked him in the side. “I mean it! I’ll call up everyone right now if you don’t believe me. They’ll all tell you the same thing.”

“I know that,” Akira huffed. “But this is my problem, not yours.”

“Oh my god.” She slapped him on the arm. “How can you be so smart but so, so _dumb_? You spent a year listening to us all whine about our problems and helping us solve them, the least we can do is help you out.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t.” 

She whipped her phone out and began typing rapidly. Akira made a dive for it, but she leaned over and blocked him with a leg, sticking her tongue out at him. 

Akira’s phone buzzed from where he left it by the bed. He groaned. “Do I want to know what you sent?”

“Of course! ‘Hey everyone, come over to Leblanc and help Akira with his big, dumb, gay crisis,’” she read, still holding the phone out of Akira’s reach.

“It’s not a gay crisis,” Akira muttered. “That implies that I’m having a crisis about being gay.”

“Close enough.” Ann shrugged, tossing her phone aside. “While we’re waiting, you’re going to tell me everything you know. We’re getting to the bottom of this today.”

“Fine.” Akira’s phone buzzed again, but he put it out of his mind. “He kicked me out right after we got out of the Metaverse, so it has to be something that happened in there. Right before we left, I—” His throat constricted as realization slammed into him. “The mirror we went through to get back to the real world. I changed its destination.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how.” Akira frowned. “I just got the sense that I could, so I did.”

Ann’s nose wrinkled. “Look, I don’t understand the Metaverse as well as you and Makoto and Futaba, but I don’t think that’s normal.”

“I know,” he huffed. “I didn’t think about it, but I should have. The first time we went into the Metaverse, I knew that there was something important in the place where Kamoshida’s Treasure used to be, and we found an exit there.”

“Have you heard anything from Lavenza or Igor?”

“Nope.” Akira furrowed his brow. The reason Akechi was angry with him had to do with what he’d done in the Metaverse. It was right there, hovering at the edge of his mind. 

The memory of an evening at Leblanc, watching Maruki leave the cafe before confronting Akechi about his own life, filtered in through his thoughts. Past the fury at the idea of taking Maruki’s offer, guarded by cold layers of condescension, Akechi’s expression had held something vulnerable. Dead or alive, Akechi wanted his freedom, and Akira could never deny him that. Not after everything they’d been through.

“Oh,” he breathed. “He thinks I was the one to bring him back.”

“Were you?”

“I don’t know. If I was, I had no idea.” 

Ann picked up a tiny bottle and unscrewed the top. “Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to paint your nails while you talk yourself through this.”

Akira rolled his eyes, but placed his free hand on top of her waiting palm. “I think he’s right.” He took a bite of the sweet bun.

“He _is_ a detective.”

“Yeah, I know. But now that I see it, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Hm?” Ann didn’t even look at him as she dragged the nail brush over Akira’s thumbnail, leaving behind smooth silver.

“No one else with knowledge of the Metaverse would have gone that far,” Akira told her. No acknowledgement, but he plowed forward anyway. “Even Maruki only brought him back because it was part of my ideal world. He wasn’t anything more than a bargaining chip to people in power or a passing fad for the rest of the world. I just don’t know how I could have gotten the power to bring him back.”

With a hum, Ann finished another nail. “Didn’t Lavenza say something about how Maruki got his power?”

“He had a Persona that could change people’s cognition already. Arsene doesn’t have that power, and neither do any of my other Personas.”

She frowned. “So? You used to give Arsene weird powers all the time. When we were going through Okumura’s Palace, you just showed up one day and ice skills didn’t knock you down anymore.”

“That’s different,” he protested. 

“How?”

“It—” Akira paused, then shook his head. “It just is.”

“Uh-huh.” 

He was saved from answering by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Both of them looked over to see Yusuke, sketchbook tucked under his arm.

“Oh, good,” Ann said. “Yusuke, you can paint my nails after I’m done with Akira’s.”

“Of course.” Yusuke settled down cross-legged next to Akira. “What is this crisis you called the Thieves here for?”

Akira groaned, but Ann jumped in before he could say anything to Yusuke.

“Akira’s been sulking because he and Akechi have no communication skills.”

“I see.” Though Yusuke’s expression remained neutral, Akira could tell he was laughing on the inside.

“Sulking is a strong word,” he muttered, turning his gaze back down to his nails. Ann gestured for him to switch hands and he did so, carefully keeping the paint from touching anything. “On Wednesday night, we met up and went into the Metaverse to blow off some steam. When we got back out, he got pissed at me and kicked me out of his apartment. I’m just trying to figure out why.”

Yusuke nodded, opening up his sketchbook and flipping through the pages. Akira caught glimpses of red and black, followed by a flash of yellow eyes, but he bit back his curiosity. More likely than not, he’d get to see whatever ended up being the final product. 

When Yusuke said nothing more, Akira looked back at Ann, who was nearly finished with his other hand.

“This is only the first coat,” she warned. “I have a plan for this.”

Akira laughed. “I look forward to it.”

Ann smiled. “You’d better.” 

As Ann focused on Akira’s nails and Yusuke on his art, the other Thieves trickled in. Akira greeted each with a nod or a smile, and by the time they had all arrived, Ann had finished painting his nails. Each one was split cleanly in half, with black and silver separated by a thin red line.

“Looking good, Joker!” Morgana meowed from where he’d perched on the couch cushions behind Akira.

“What exactly did you call all of us here for?” Makoto asked as Ann handed her nail kit to Yusuke, who shut his sketchbook and set it on the floor beside him. He and Akira quickly swapped places.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Ryuji piped up. “I’ve been trying to get you to talk all week, man.”

Akira gave them a quick rundown of everything he’d told Ann. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Makoto and Haru exchange a glance.

“What is it?” 

Makoto jumped. “Uh—”

“Are you planning on talking to him about this?” Haru cut in smoothly.

“No.” Akira screwed up his face. “Clearly he doesn’t want to see me anymore. I’m not going to force my company onto him.”

“You’re too selfless for your own good,” Futaba said.

“Haven’t heard that one before,” he muttered under his breath, and she kicked him in the thigh.

“If Akira’s made up his mind, we shouldn’t push,” Sumire spoke up from her spot by the wall.

“Thank you!” Akira threw his hands in the air. “At least someone here still respects me.”

“Friends are allowed to lecture friends if they think they’re being stupid,” Ann retorted. 

“Can we please talk about anything else? Futaba, how’s that app coming along?”

Futaba scowled. “Not well. I think your stupid blue room friends don’t want me finishing it.”

“Of course.” Akira shut his eyes, desperately trying to dig up something to talk about that wouldn’t circle back to him. “Yusuke, have you found anyone you’d like to mentor yet?”

No response. Right, Yusuke had never gotten out of the habit of throwing all his attention into his art, and it seemed nail art was no exception. 

It seemed that at least one of his friends was willing to take pity on him, as Sumire walked over to settle beside Ann. “Futaba, can I paint your nails?”

“Yeah!” Futaba plopped down in front of her. “Can you do green?”

“I can! Makoto, Haru, do either of you want yours painted after?”

“Of course,” Makoto replied. Despite Sumire’s attempt at distraction, her gaze remained firmly on Akira. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to escape whatever conversation she had planned. At least she was merciful enough to not bring it up right then. Instead, she turned to Ryuji. “Ryuji, how long do you plan to stay in Tokyo this time?”

“A few weeks,” Ryuji answered. “I’ve gotta take some time to train after my break, so I’ll be flying out the eighteenth.” 

“I see. And where is your next competition?”

Akira closed his eyes, shutting out the rest of the conversation. He had already heard all the details when he and Ryuji went for ramen, and the more pressing issue was figuring out what to tell Makoto when she inevitably cornered him to explain things. If only he knew what was going on himself.

——

The only thing worse than knowing that Makoto would hunt him down to talk was not knowing when that talk might happen. She’d left on Sunday with nothing more than a meaningful glance in his direction. It had only been a day, and he was already ready to burst as he waited for her to text or call. Or perhaps she would just walk into his office like she owned the place. 

Either way, it wouldn’t do to linger on it. He already had plenty to do. For example, returning the sketchbook that Yusuke had forgotten in Leblanc’s attic, which his fingers itched to flip through. 

Currently, the sketchbook was sitting on the edge of his desk, a paperweight placed on top of it in an attempt to tamp down the urge to snoop. Not that Yusuke had ever cared about Akira seeing his sketchbooks in the past…

Akira set the paperweight to the side and scooped up the sketchbook. All he wanted to see was whatever drawing had those yellow eyes, and then he would leave it be. 

Most of the pages were filled with uncolored sketches. A couple chatting over coffee with their legs intertwined, a cat stalking a pigeon, a few doodles of various Thieves’ Metaverse outfits and Personas, and other ordinary things. Akira began flipping faster through them, to the point where he nearly missed the flash of red and black. He stopped and turned a few pages back.

A pair of bright yellow eyes stared straight back at him, set in his own face. The figure in the painting, unmistakably him, lounged on a jagged red and black throne. At his feet, his mask laid shattered.

The sketchbook landed on his desk with a thump.

“Shit.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. It wasn’t the first time Yusuke had made art of him as Joker, but something about it felt different. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands.

_“Farewell, Trickster. We’ll meet again soon.”_

That settled it. When he met with Yusuke to return the sketchbook, he would ask him about it. There had to be a simple, harmless explanation. Everyone’s eyes glowed yellow when they awakened their Persona, right? Yusuke hadn’t been there for Akira’s awakening, but perhaps he was trying to recreate it. It wouldn’t have been the first time Yusuke used Akira as a model for Metaverse-related art. Akira was just on edge, after everything that happened.

“Are you okay?”

Akira nearly leapt out of his skin, dropping his hands to see Iwata standing on the other side of his desk. Though his expression was impassive, Akira could see the teen’s gaze flickering between the sketchbook and Akira’s face.

“I’m fine.” He offered up a careful smile, folding his hands on the desk. “Just a little bit lost in thought.” As casually as he could manage, he reached out and flipped the book shut, but the damage was done. Iwata had seen his Metaverse outfit the week before, and he was more than sharp enough to connect the dots. The best Akira could do was damage control. “What can I help you with?”

“That looked like Kitagawa’s style. Is that his sketchbook?”

“Yes. He left it behind the last time he visited me, and I haven’t gotten the chance to return it.”

“Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

Iwata gave him a flat look and gestured at the sketchbook. “You know what.”

He hesitated, pressing his lips together. There wasn’t a point in hiding the truth from Iwata, but it wasn’t something that was exactly easy to just come out and say. Especially if he was wrong and jumping to conclusions on what Iwata did or didn’t know. “Maybe,” he finally replied. “But that’s not what you came here for, is it?”

“No.” Iwata glared at him, but settled down in the seat across from the desk. “If there was something going on, something bad, and you had a way that you could maybe fix it, would you? Even if you had to work with someone you didn’t like?”

Akira’s smile widened. “Are you the only people who can do something about it?”

Iwata wrinkled his nose. “Maybe. There might be other people, but they aren’t doing a very good job of it.”

“You know, I’m not supposed to encourage you to do something that might get you in trouble. I’m supposed to tell you to stand back and let adults handle the big things.”

“That’s bullshit,” Iwata said with a scowl.

“That’s what I’m supposed to tell you, but that’s not what I’m going to tell you. Sometimes there are things that you have to stand up for, even when the rest of the world is turning its back.”

“And you think this is something I need to stand up for.”

“Only you can decide that. Just make sure you’re as careful as is warranted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Akira shrugged. “Some risks are worth taking, some aren’t. Just remember who has your back and who doesn’t.”

Iwata rolled his eyes. “I know I was really vague, but I wasn’t asking you to spout cryptic sayings at me.”

“Well,” Akira laughed, “I’m sure this isn’t something you’re willing to go into more details about, so this is the best you’re going to get.”

“Fine.” Iwata stood and picked up his bag, but there was a smile on his face even as he turned to leave. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

“One second, before you go.” Akira reached into his bag and pulled out an old skill card, one for Dia. “This might be useful for you.”

Iwata gave the card a suspicious once-over, but took it anyway. “Thanks. See you next time.” With that, he was off.

Akira placed the sketchbook to the side once more and pulled out some paperwork. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, until a familiar lanky figure darkened his doorway. Yusuke stepped into the room, and Akira handed him his sketchbook.

“Thank you, Akira. I’ll admit that before you called me, I’d worked myself into a frenzy searching for it. I have a spare, but there are a few pieces in here that I would like to transfer to canvas.”

“Anytime.” Akira watched as Yusuke put it in his satchel. “I looked through it.”

“Oh?”

“There was a piece in there that stood out to me.” Akira adjusted his glasses, not meeting Yusuke’s eyes. “You probably know which one I’m talking about. It was the only one in color.”

“Yes, well.” Yusuke sat down. “I haven’t made a full piece related to the Metaverse in quite a while, but this one came to me in a dream.”

“A dream?” Akira echoed, his gaze snapping to Yusuke. “What was it about?”

“I saw you, in your Metaverse outfit, on the throne. There wasn’t much more to it that I can remember.”

“Did you hear anyone saying anything? What was around the throne? How long ago was it?”

“As I said, I don’t remember anything beyond the throne and your attire. I started on it as soon as I woke up, but even then most of the details escaped me. I believe it was mid-April when I had the dream?” Yusuke squinted at him. “Why are you so worked up about this? Do you think it has something to do with the new Metaverse?”

“Maybe.” Akira took a deep breath, closing his eyes and focusing in on his heartbeat. It wouldn’t do any good to panic about anything before he had all the details. “I don’t know yet. Just… tell me if you have any other dreams like that, alright?”

“I can do that.” Yusuke rose from his chair. “You’ll be done with work soon, correct? Would you like to eat with me once you’re finished?”

“That would be nice, yeah.” Dinner was just what he needed after the day he’d had. “I’ll text you once I’m out.”

“Perfect.” Yusuke smiled before turning and stepping out of his office gracefully.

Akira still had more questions than answers, but that was something he could put aside for the time being. Though it rankled at his conscience, the new Metaverse wasn’t his place to worry about. The best thing he could do for himself was lay his curiosity to rest and return to his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. I rewrote it multiple times because it wouldn't flow right, and it isn't really the most plot-heavy, but I felt like it was a necessary interlude after last chapter. I'll definitely be going back to edit it once I've finished the entire fic, though.
> 
> With that said, I hope it was at least enjoyable to read! I have trouble reading my own writing as if I weren't the author, so I honestly have no idea how people might feel about it.
> 
> Next chapter, back to my boy Akechi! He's a lot easier for me to write so I'll hopefully have a better time pumping out chapters, but as I said before, I make absolutely no promises.


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